


Smile

by AmredTheLector



Category: Batman Beyond, DCU Animated
Genre: Age Difference, Batdudes smoochin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:24:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmredTheLector/pseuds/AmredTheLector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim Drake/Terry McGinnis ship fic originally written for a friend that spiraled into something else. With Bruce offering Tim a chance to keep an eye on Wayne Enterprises, Tim finds himself in regular contact with the new Batman. Terry inspires anger in him, but also hope. When Batman uncovers a Jokerz plot, Tim finds himself dragged back into his old life. More to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned to a friend that I ship Tim/Terry - and while I meant I ship them as teens, she interpreted it as adult Tim and teen Terry. I liked the idea and wrote a quick drabble for her, but found I had a hard time getting to shipping material. I wrote the rest in her tumblr askbox and it spiraled into something bigger than I intended.
> 
> More to come, probably. Reviews and crit welcomed.

SMILE

"If you had ANY idea what it's like, what we all went through, you'd give this all up right now. You're just a stupid little punk, still believing in heroes. Well, I've got news for you, there aren't, and even if there were, you'd never be good enough to call yourself one."

Tim Drake loomed over the teenaged boy in the bat suit, arms on either side of the boy's head, forcing him back against the wall. Their faces were barely a foot away, but he was screaming. Maybe something would get through to the little bastard, the way it never did for him. Or Dick. Or Barbara.

Terry's jaw clenched under his cowl. It would be so easy to scream back at the older man, the way he shouted at Bruce. But Bruce was different. All Bruce really understood were screams and violence. Drake was more... human. He could be reached through words.

"You think you're the only one who's got hurt, Mr. Drake? You think you're the only one who stopped believing in heroes? 'Cause guess what - the night my dad died, that's when I found out there were no heroes. No one gives a damn. I don't care if they think I'm a hero, at least I'm not sitting on my hands anymore."

"I bet you think this makes you special." Drake reached out and yanked off Terry's cowl. "If it did, he wouldn't have had so many of us. You're just a puppet like the rest of us."

That hit a nerve. Terry scowled, but his voice remained flat and emotionless. "That's the kind of thing The Joker would say."

Drake flinched, stepping back. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. He was supposed to be helping the boy, wasn't he? That's what Bruce had asked him to do. But this... this was the best help he could give the boy. To get him out of this kind of life that only ever ended in pain and loneliness. He collapsed onto his couch.

"The DNA chip wasn't the only twisted thing that clown left inside me." He murmured.

"Look, whatever," Terry said, sitting down in the chair across from Drake and leaning his elbows on his knees. "Fine, you don't believe in heroes. But at least try to believe in me. I'm not gonna give up being Batman. I didn't give up on you, right?"

Drake took a long look at the boy over steepled fingers. Terry was so much like Bruce, so much of that fierce determination. But unlike Bruce, he could smile. A real, genuine smile. Tim had never been able to feel much after the... accident... but this boy was making him feel something. He felt freer than he had in decades being around Terry. And he owed the kid.

"I'll try," he said, extending a hand, "but I can't promise anything."  
"In this city, who can?" Terry grasped his hand firmly.

-

"Are you sure about this?" Terry said, squinting into the microscope. What exactly he was supposed to be looking at, he wasn't sure, but Drake had said it had something to do with... something to do with hacking was all he had gotten. He didn't understand the technobabble.

"I ran it past your friend Max," Tim replied. "She agrees."

"Well, I don't know what I'm s'posed to be looking at here."

"Move," Tim said, leaning over Terry's bad to get a look at the microscope.

Terry tried to scoot over, but the desk was set in the corner of the room, against the wall, and Tim had sort of locked him into place. The older man had to lean over Terry's shoulder to get a look at the scope.

"There," he said, adjusting the lens and leaning back. "Lower right corner. See the smiley face?"

Terry made a face, certain he hadn't seen anything, and looked again. Tim had to hold back a chuckle. The kid was so stubborn. So much like Bruce. If he couldn't see it, it didn't exist.

As the boy intensely stared at the scope, Tim found himself taking a closer look at Terry. Yes, he was a bit like Bruce. He got that same angry, determined look in his eyes. He even looked slightly like the old man. But the similarities were mostly superficial. He was leaner and shorter than Bruce, faster, too. Unlike Dick, he wasn't all sinew and gymnast - he wasn't like any of the kids. It was obvious that his strength came from the streets, not from some dojo or gym.

Tim shook his head. What was he even thinking about this for? He was just doing what he'd promised to Bruce - help the kid out with technology if he needed it, keep an eye on the company. He shouldn't go getting attached. If something happened to Terry, like it had to all of the others... he didn't understand why Bruce would let himself go through that feeling again. Terry must have been something special, alright.

"Gotcha!" Terry exclaimed triumphantly. "I see it."

"Well?" Tim asked.

"Well," Terry replied, "it's definitely a smiley face. Stamped right into the circuit board. But... seriously, the Joker? It's probably just like... the logo of the company that made the board."

"Your friend already check on that, there's no electronics company with a smiley face logo."

Terry sat back and frowned, the back of his head bumping into Tim's chest. He leaned his head back, looking at Tim up-side down.

"Look," he said, getting that intense expression on his face, "the Joker's gone. I know you're scared that he's trying to use you again, but we went over you with a fine-toothed comb, and kept tabs on your movements. You haven't been sneaking out and building a death-satellite again, I swear. This is probably just a coincidence."

"Hell of a coincidence," Tim muttered.

Terry sighed, sitting up properly and turning around. He lifted himself up to sit on the edge of the desk so he could be on the same eye-level as Tim.

"Look," he said, "if anything, it's a copycat, and I'll weed 'em out. Mr. Drake-" he reached out and gripped Tim's shoulder, "-let me worry about this. You haven't done anything and you aren't about to."

Tim nodded, but it was half-hearted. He wanted to believe Terry, he really did. But for years he had lived with that monster inside of him. It was hard to believe that the Joker could be destroyed so easily.

"I'm gonna get out there now, see what I can find," Terry said, hopping off the desk and grabbing his backpack. "You got a place I can change...?" He asked, pulled out his bat suit. This time, Tim did chuckle.

"You actually carry that around with you?" He asked.

"Excuse me for not wanting to make the drive all the way out to Wayne Manor every time I need it," Terry shot back. "Gas is _kind of_ pricey for us poor kids who didn't get adopted by a lonely rich weirdo."

"Hey, it wasn't all fun and games being one of his kids," Tim replied. "At least your parents didn't make you wear hot pants into a gun fight."

"No. But they DID put me in Superman pjs for baby pictures."

-

A few days went by without Tim hearing anything from Terry or Bruce. He wasn't surprised, they had bigger fish to fry. And he was thankful for the space. Having Batman keeping an eye on you could be both comforting and exhausting. But after a few days, the phone rang. He answered it, only to hear a teenage girl reply. She sounded shaken. "Mr. Drake? This is Max Gibson. Terry's friend. I just... thought you should know. He was checking on that chip he found, with the face on it? And, well..."

When Tim made it to the Manor, he found Bruce hunched over the kitchen sink, washing his hands. He could see a few flecks of blood on Bruce's sleeves - Bruce had never been quite as neat as Alfred. "Where's the kid?" Tim demanded. Bruce looked up sharply. Their relationship has mended slightly since Terry had defeated the Joker, but it would never be what it once was.

"It's not your responsibility, Tim," he said gruffly. "Go home."

"It's both of our responsibility," Tim snapped. "For being an example and letting stupid kids think they should put their lives in danger."

Bruce gave him a hard look. "Terry knew the risks when he became Batman."

Tim glared at Bruce for a moment, mouth twitching and he considered saying something. Something about no one ever really knew the risks, as he experienced first hand. Instead, he bluntly stated, "Whatever," and made his way to the cave's secret entrance.

He found Terry in the small medical bay. The young man was shirtless, a bandaged wrapped around his torso. A long, diagonal red streak had started to soak through the stark white gauze. He'd been slowly sitting up when Tim stormed up to him and grabbed him by the neck.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He growled. "You could have been killed. You should have waited for the police to get there instead of going in alone. You stupid fucking kid."

"If I'd waited, other people would've died," Terry croaked, narrowing his eyes like a cornered dog.

"Yeah, yeah," Tim responded, drawing Terry closer. "Big bad Batman, has to be the fucking hero. Well guess what, suicidal mission's aren't brave, they're stupid. One day you're going to end up in a body bag, and I for one won't give a damn or feel even the least bit sorry for you."

Suddenly, before Tim could continue, Terry snarled, and his fist connected with the side of Tim's face. Tim let go of Terry, nearly thrown to the ground with the force of the punch. Terry howled in pain, clutching his shoulder as a fresh spot of blood began to spread under the bandage.

"Stop. Slagging. Lecturing me." He hissed through clenched teeth. Tim stared at the boy, blinking. The kid was dedicated, he had to admit. But that dedication wasn't always a good thing.

Taking notice of the blood collecting under the bandage, Tim's face softened a bit, and he stood back up. "Here," he said, a bit of kindness edging through his otherwise enraged voice. "You probably tore some stitches out." He gently pushed Terry back down on the medical slab. The boy's face was contorted with pain, and he made no objection. Carefully, Tim cut off the bandage and set to work on the stitches. He was nowhere near as good as Alfred, or even Bruce, but it would at least help.

Tim couldn't help but look at Terry as he worked. The kid's entire chest and arms were covered in scars. He was so young - there was no reason for someone that young to have gone through so much. Tim had similar scars. He'd never thought about it when he was a kid, but now, now that that life was behind him, they were permanent records of his own stupidity. He'd hoped he would be the last kid with scars like that in Gotham. It broke his heart knowing he had been wrong.

Terry surfaced from the haze of pain he was experiencing enough to see Tim taking notice of his scars. He seemed to know exactly what Tim was thinking, too, when he started speaking.

"They aren't all from being Batman," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"The scars... they're not all from being Batman. A lot of 'em I got before I started putting on the cowl. You think I'm a dumb kid now, you shoulda seen me back in my gang days."

Tim frowned. He'd known Terry had had some sort of criminal record, but underage records were sealed. He hadn't known exactly what kind of criminal record it had been. "Your gang, it wasn't-"

"No," Terry cut him off quickly. "I never put on face paint or a squirting flower. Naw, just a neighborhood gang, but it was bad enough. I was a stupid kid. I'm still a stupid kid, but at least now I'm trying to do right by this city."

Tim sighed, clasping Terry's shoulder. "There's other ways to do right by this city."

"Yeah... but no one was taking this job. Might've well put a big 'help wanted' sign on it," he said with a grin.

Tim shook his head, silently finishing applying a new bandage. That was one thing Terry had that Bruce didn't - a sense of humor. But that almost a disadvantage in this line of work. Tim had thought of Robin as fun and games, and look what had happened.

"So," Terry said, sitting up again, being careful not to pull his stitches. "How'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Become Robin. Bruce told me about how he adopted Dick Grayson, but he never talks about you. You loose your parents too, or what?"

Tim looked away, but the thing right in his line of sight was the case of suits. He looked at his hands instead. "

No," he said. "At first, I still had a family. Dick had quit, and I knew Batman needed a Robin, so I put on a costume and became him."

Terry was silent, and that bothered Tim. He looked up to see the young man smiling. "What?" Tim asked.

"Nothin'," Terry shrugged. Tim was beginning to think that at the very least, the boy had the tact not to point out the hypocrisy. Then he went a ruined it. "Just... if Batman needs a Robin, I guess Gotham needs a Batman. Guess we're operating on the same wavelength."

Terry slid off the medical slab and slowly walked over to a table laid out with a clean set of clothes. He pulled on a shirt and Tim couldn't help but think it looked familiar. It struck him - it was one of Dick's old shirts that he'd left behind at the manor when he left for Bludhaven. It mostly fit Terry, but he was a bit broader in the shoulders than Dick had been, so it fit tighter. It felt a bit strange to see the kid wearing it. At the very least, he didn't wear any of their old costumes.

"Mr. Drake," Terry began, "I know you're worried something's gonna happen to me. And I appreciate it, really. You don't even know me but you're looking out for me. But I can look out for myself."

Tim looked up sharply. "I had both Bruce and Barbara looking out for me, and I still got grabbed by The Joker," he said darkly.

It took a moment for Terry to respond. "It won't happen to me," he said. He couldn't promise anything, but Tim almost believed Terry when he said that.

Terry didn't give him a chance to respond to it, he was already walking out of the batcave. Tim sat there, alone with his thoughts. He hated the kid. He wasn't sure if it was the thoughts The Joker had whispered in his head about killing Batman, or if he was just angry at Bruce for putting someone else in danger. And yet at the same time, that stupid, arrogant little punk was starting to grow on him. He shook his head. Don't get attached, Timothy, he told himself.

-

THREE DAYS LATER

Tim was enjoying his Sunday to himself when he heard the doorbell buzz. He checked the security camera aimed at the front door that he's installed since the Joker had resurfaced, just in case he transformed and slipped out again. He saw a familiar face on the screen - a face with an eye patch.

"What do you want, Dick?" he said as he opened the door and came face to face with his older brother.

"Timmy!" Dick exclaimed, throwing his arms around Tim. The hug quickly turned into a headlock. Tim protested, telling Dick to knock it off, that they weren't kids anymore. It took nothing short of a punch in the kidneys to get Dick to release him.

"What do you want, Dick?" He repeated.

"What, I can't visit my little brother?"

"Sure, but you've got that look in your eyes - eye - that you get when you want a favor."

"Well, I was going to work up to that," Dick said, running a hand through his graying hair, "but I'll get right to the point. I met the new kid a few months ago. Worked with him, even. Now he's asking for my help."

Tim scowled slightly. "The smiley face computer chip?"

Dick nodded. "He said you'd seen it. That hacker friend of him tracked it back to a gang of Jokerz, surprise surprise. But this gang, it's more organized than any I've ever seen. More than the one the real Joker was running, even."

"Why are you telling me this?" Tim demanded, his scowl deepening.

"Because the kid asked for my help on this," Dick replied, "and for your help, too. He needs people who can hack to help us get into a warehouse. His friend can help, but two heads are better than one."

Tim clenched his hands into fists. "Why didn't he ask me himself?"

"He mentioned the last time he spoke to you, you yelled at him and tried to strangle him. Might have something to do with that."

Tim snorted. Yeah, that probably did have something to do with it.

"Is everything okay, Tim?" Dick said, genuinely concerned. "I mean, do you need to talk to someone...?"

Tim shook his head. "It's got nothing to do with The Joker, if that's what you're wondering about," he said. "I'm... worried about the kid. He needs to get out of this world while he still has a chance."

"Would you have got out if you knew what was going to happen?"

Tim's answer was silence.

"That's what I thought," Dick said softly. "Well, at least think about it. If you can't beat him, join him. I doubt we'll be able to talk Terry out of being Batman, so we might as well try to keep him safe while he's doing it."

"Mm," Tim grunted noncommittally.

"Like I said, think about it," Dick ruffled Tim's hair. "Geez, you went gray fast," he said jokingly.

Tim grinned slightly. "Yeah, I don't have the Grayson gift of seductive graying temples."

"We need to get together sometime," Dick said, heading back for the door. "I need to run, but we should just talk sometime. I know it's not like old times, but..."

"I almost prefer it," Tim said. "It's nice to be normal."

Dick smiled, a playful shimmer in his eyes. "You don't really think that," he said as he exited and shut the door behind him. Dick always could see through him like that.

In the end, Tim caved to the request. He wanted to be done with this sort of life, done with all the Batman bullshit. But Dick was right, as long as another kid was putting his life on the line, it was almost his duty to keep an eye on him. The night came when Dick and Terry planned to storm this warehouse of Jokerz came up fast. They'd tried to give Tim details, but he asked them not to bother. He didn't need to know about Jokerz, just point him towards their security system and he'd hack it.

They'd set him up in Dick's apartment, saying something about wanting to have a central headquarters, and that Bruce would never approve of Tim and Max's involvement on the case. Tim had the feeling that it was more like they wanted to keep an eye on him in case dealing with Jokerz brought out any remnants of The Joker, since they hadn't set up Max there, too. Or maybe Dick and Max just had been computers than Tim did and they were trying to be polite by not mentioning it outright.

The hacking went well enough. The system was secure, but it wasn't a challenge. Tim and Max got the security cameras shut down within two minutes, and were already compiling blueprints and sending them to the boys. Max had hacked into the video feed of Terry's cowl, so Dick and Tim could maintain radio silence. The two made it through the warehouse swiftly, without trouble, when suddenly the video feed opened up into a room full of machinery.

Slowly, the video feed swept the room. Tim was an engineer, he knew his way around machines - but he didn't recognize these. But he noticed something - the room was empty. This was supposed to be a Joker nest, but Dick and Terry hadn't seen any in the whole building. The video suddenly focused on a figure in the middle of the room. It began to zoom, enough to see the figure was male, with pale skin and and shaved head. And then the video cut out.

The audio remained. Tim heard Terry make a gurgled gasp in pain, and Dick shouted. Shots were fired. There was yelling, and then the audio cut out, too. A message appeared on Tim's screen.

"HAVE YOU LOST VIS/AUD TOO?"

"Yes," he replied.

"TRACKING THEIR POSITION NOW."

Tim nodded to himself. Max sounded panicked, as much as text could convey emotion. He was worried, too, but he'd had the training to bottle it up. He had to have faith in Dick. And in Terry.

Tim's screen suddenly changed as Max connected their computers and set up a screen share. He saw a map of the city, and a little red blip. The blip was outside of the warehouse, moving slowly. It picked up speed - they must have made it to the batmobile. He expected it to make a beeline to Wayne Manor, but instead it was headed straight towards him. All he could do was wait.

A few tense minutes passed, and the door flew open. Dick entered the apartment, holding up a half-conscious Batman.

"What happened?" Tim asked, getting up. On the computer screen, the exact same question flashed.

Tim quickly fired off a reply: "They're here. Alive. I'll keep you posted." As he did so, Dick dragged Terry to the couch, helping him to lay down.

"We got blitz attacked," he explained. "The kid got stabbed."

"And you didn't take him to the Manor, WHY?" Tim demanded.

Dick shook his head. "Too far. His suit's both the key to the ignition and the steering wheel to the batmobile. There's no way he would've stayed away long enough to get us back. Besides, I can do whatever Bruce would do to help him. C'mere, put pressure on his side." He grabbed Tim by the hand and pressed it to Terry's side as he went to find a medical kit. Blood gushed around Tim's fingers. He really hadn't missed kind of this life.

While Dick was looking for the med kit, Terry moaned something. Tim couldn't hear it, so he reached up with his free hand and peeled off the suit's mask. Terry's face turned towards him, his eyes having a hard time focusing.

"I told you," he muttered, "it wasn't you."

Tim's eyes narrowed, and he wanted to ask what Terry was talking about, when Dick reappeared at his elbow.

"Help me," his older brother commanded.

Carefully, the two peeled off the upper half of Terry's suit. Tim cleaned off the stab wound while Dick prepared a suture needle. "It's not that deep," Tim reported. "Looks like it missed any organs, but whatever this blade was, it was sharp. That suit's sturdier than anything Bruce wore."

Dick nodded, then gently moved Tim out of the way. Terry hissed in pain as Dick began to stitch him up, and Tim had to keep a hand on his chest to keep him steady so Dick could work.

With the stitches in place, Tim helped to lift Terry into a sitting position so Dick could wrap a bandage around him. It criss-crossed the long diagonal cut over Terry's chest. Tim couldn't help but shake his head, seeing that. The kid was even crazier than Bruce. At least Bruce had Alfred to confine him to the manor when he got seriously injured and needed time to recover. With the bandaging done, Dick sat back with an exhausted sigh.

For the first time since they'd shown up, Tim took a good look at his brother. His eye and the bridge of his nose were showing the first signs of bruising. There was a shallow gash along his forehead, and he was breathing carefully, like he had a cracked rib.

"You think you can keep an eye on the kid, make sure he doesn't die?" Dick asked. "'Cause I'm two minutes from blacking out, myself."

Tim nodded. "Go, rest," he said.

As Dick shakily made his way to the bedroom, Tim was about to return to the computer to update Max, when a hand settled on his shoulder. He turned to see Terry looking at him, working through the pain to say something. He kneeled next to the couch. Terry's hand moved to the back of his neck, pulled him towards him so that he wouldn't have to use much volume to speak.

"Tim," he said, voice low and intense, "I told you, it wasn't you. They're... they're making another one. Another Joker."

Tim blinked. But... how? How could that even be possible? He knew he should feel scared, but something about the boy's face put him at ease. Terry didn't have to say anything, but Tim knew that the boy would do anything to protect him. Maybe the boy felt guilty, or maybe... maybe there was something more connecting them.

"Just rest," Tim murmured. "We can talk about this later. For now, just..."

Tim wasn't sure what overcame him. Sure, there had been rumors about himself and Conner, but it had never... he had a wife, for god's sake. Still, something drove him, a feeling of connection, like this stupid kid was an anchor in his otherwise uncertain life. He thought maybe the hand on the back of his neck guided him, but that may have just been Terry being unable to keep his arm up.

Tim leaned down over Terry, hesitantly. Terry made no attempt to move, so Tim went ahead. His lips met Terry's. Terry's lips were chapped, and he must have bitten the inside of his cheek at some point in the escape from the warehouse, because Tim could taste the coppery tang of blood on his mouth. Terry's mouth was open slightly, Tim could feel teeth barely grazing his lips. But he resisted opening his own mouth, from taking this any further.

The hand disappeared from the back of his neck. Tim slowly pulled back, opening his eyes. He hadn't remembered closing them. He looked down at Terry - the boy's eyes were closed, his arm hanging off the edge of the couch. His breathing was shallow. Tim swallowed, leaning back on his heels. He shook his head, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and laying it over the sleeping young man. He should check on Max, make sure she knew Terry was okay.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim awoke because of a sound. His eyes flew open, and he was instantly on alert, scanning the room. He heard the sound again and realized - it was just Terry. The boy was groaning in his sleep, turning over on the couch as if he was trying to get comfortable, but obviously he kept lying on the stab wound in his side. Tim relaxed slightly, but he knew he could never fully relax. He hadn't been relaxed since the day Harley had captured him and delivered him to The Joker.

He sat back in the arm chair he'd dozed off in. The windows of Dick's apartment faced the east, and the sun was starting to rise. Tim could remember a time when the smog wasn't so bad that it turned the sunrise purple. His attention drifted back to Terry as the young man fitfully kicked off the blanket covering him. A deep feeling of shame crept into Tim's mind as he remember what he did the night before. How was he going to explain himself? He hadn't even been clear why he'd done it.

There was a noise behind him, and Tim turned to see Dick walking into the kitchen.

"Hey," Tim said quietly, not wanting to wake Terry.

"Morning," Dick replied, "coffee?"

Tim nodded, and stood up to join Dick in the kitchen, perching on one of the stools set up at the island counter. Dick went about the motions of making coffee in silence, clearly avoiding conversation. Tim had to be the one to initiate.

"Terry told me what they were building," he said quietly.

Dick inhaled deeply, then let it back out. He ran a hand through his hair, taking his time with approaching the topic.

"Dick," Tim said, his voice dangerously steady, "what exactly were they doing?"

Dick folded his arms and leaned back against the counter, avoiding eye contact. "I don't know exactly. We got attacked as soon as we saw it. But I got a close enough look - it was him, all right. Can't ever forget that face. And one of those clowns, they said... they said their leader was returning."

"Returning? It wasn't my... his..." Tim began to say, but was suddenly cut off.

"That dreg Ghoul and his little buddies weren't anywhere near that place," Terry said, slowly getting off the couch. "Besides, they never talked about The Joker the way these freaks were. Those Jokerz last night... they talked about him like he was a god. Ghoul's gang were too afraid of him to worship him."

Tim was worried for a moment that Terry would say something about what had happened between the two of them the previous night, but the boy's priorities lay elsewhere. He came to join them, and continued speaking.

"So, any theories? Cloning? Someone dig up Arkham and drop the clown in a Lazarus Pit?" Dick shot him a dark look - one Terry knew. Bruce had given him the same look when the Joker returned the first time.

"Not now," Dick said. Tim noticed how both men glanced at him.

"I'm not that fragile," Tim said, temper rising just a bit. "I'm not going to have a breakdown by just talking about the Joker. I've had years and years of therapy, you don't have to handle me with kid gloves or-" He was cut off by a hand on his arm. He glanced over to see Terry grasping his arm, giving him a sympathetic look. He realize his volume had started to rise while he was speaking. He took a deep breath and sat back.

"Just... you can talk in front of me, okay?"

"Okay," Terry said gently. "But Grayson's right, this isn't the time. We don't know what's going on, we need to investigate more, otherwise we're just talking out our asses." Dick raised an eyebrow at Terry.

"What?" Terry snapped. "Look, I know I'm not Bruce, but I'm not an idiot, you don't have to act so surprised." Dick smiled and shook his head, waving his hand in the air and turning back to the coffee pot.

Tim glanced down at his arm again, noticing Terry was still holding it. The boy gave it a slight squeeze that may have been one meant to reassure Tim after his near outburst - though Tim wasn't sure - and let go. Terry slid off the stool he was sitting on, and walked back to the couch to collect the parts of his suit that had been removed to treat his wounds. "Mom's gonna freak at me being gone all night again," he said. "Meet up back here tonight to talk about what we saw?"

Dick nodded. "Sounds good," he said. "Tim, you should come back here, too. We know it's not you, but you... well..." He didn't have to continue. Tim knew what he was getting at - The Joker has been inside his head for decades. Dick thought he might have a unique insight. Tim personally didn't think he did, but if The Joker was coming back again, he wanted to help Batman stop him.

Dick and Tim turned back to speak to Terry, only to see the window open and the boy gone. Dick whistled.

"He's gettin' good at that," he said with a smile, offering Tim a cup of coffee. "I didn't even hear the window open."

"Mm," Tim grunted. He had to admit, the kid did make a decent Batman.

-

THAT NIGHT

"This is bullshit!" Terry shouted. "I'm Batman, of course I'm going!"

"No," Dick replied, maintaining his cool disposition. "This is me trying to teach you how to be smart. You go out there tonight, you're probably going to pull all of your stitches and land yourself in the hospital."

Terry snorted, saying, "I took down KOBRA with six cracked ribs, this is nothing."

"Nothing according to you or Bruce, maybe. But according to me, nearly getting gutted and then getting stabbed a few days later means you need to take a breather. If you're not sitting out for your health, then do it because your injuries will slow you down and put you in danger."

Terry shook his head. "So what am I going to do? Just sit by and let The Jokerz remake a lunatic?"

"You said you weren't an idiot," Tim suddenly interrupted. "Prove it. Sit this one out."

Terry whirled around on Tim. "So, I'm getting another lecture, huh?"

"Terry," Dick snapped, his outer calm cracking for just a moment. "You can stay out of this on your own free will, or I can knock you out. Your choice."

Terry ground his teeth, but eventually threw himself down into the armchair, seething. "Fine," he growled. "Go ahead, take my freaking job. Go prove that you'd make a better Batman."

"That's. Not. What. I'm. Doing." Dick said through clenched teeth, nearly at his breaking point.

Tim gently backhanded his brother's arm, nodding at him to step a few feet away. "He's a teenager, Dick," he whispered. "You and I acted the exact same way when Bruce took us off of cases back in the day. Let him sulk for now, he'll get over it."

Dick sighed, and nodded. "You're right. He's just got a way of getting under your skin, y'know?"

"He took down The Joker by _talking_. Trust me, I know."

Tim let Terry stew in silence for a while after Dick left. He knew what the boy was thinking - he was thinking about how to get past Tim and go out on patrol. Tim had thought the exact same things when Alfred had watched over him when he was removed from a case. He hoped Terry would be smart enough not to try anything the way he had... but then again, he was pretty sure Terry didn't have the same respect for him the way he did for Alfred. He sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and waited.

Tim expected Terry to eventually say something, but what he eventually said wasn't what Tim had expected. They had been sitting in silence for some time, Tim nursing his coffee and Terry sulking, when suddenly Terry spoke. "This is gonna sound weird," he started, hesitating slightly. "Did you... I'm pretty sure I imagined it, it's crazy, this is gonna sound stupid... did you... kiss me yesterday?"

The question came as such a surprise that Tim nearly inhaled in coffee and started coughing to clear his windpipe. He hadn't even been sure Terry was conscious, but apparently... He continued to clear his throat, not answering. But Terry didn't seem to accept that, and walked over to the kitchen. He hoisted himself up so he could sit on the counter, sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees. "We... should talk about this," he said.

"I... don't really know what to say about it," Tim said, stuttering slightly. "I... yes, I did. I can't really say why I did it."

"Hmm," Terry replied. "Sorry if I'm not buying that."

Tim leaned his elbows on the counter, staring at his cup of coffee. Why HAD he done it? He had his ideas, like how this dumb kid somehow made him feel comfortable, but he couldn't really say that. It was hard enough to open up, explaining himself over this was pretty much impossible.

"Okay, so, obviously you're somehow attracted to me," Terry cut through the silence, "what I don't get is WHY. I mean, like, age difference and... other stuff... aside or whatever... you remember that I only met you because The Joker was using you to try to hurt me, right? I mean, I respect what you did as Robin, but... I don't really... y'know."

"I don't know," Tim replied slowly. "Maybe because... you saved me. You didn't give up on me or back down from The Joker."

Now it was Terry's turn to fall silent. Tim didn't like the silence, it let him think. His thoughts were swirling around in his head, full of guilt and shame and confusion and then - it just stopped. He stopped thinking and acted instead. He stood up, moving to stand in front of Terry. He reached out and placed a hand on Terry's cheek.

"Mr. Drake, I'm not... y'know..."

"I'm not either."

Tim was hesitant, not wanting to force himself on the boy, but the boy didn't try to move. He leaned in, partially drawing Terry close to him, and kissed him. The kiss was one-sided at first, Terry tense and unresponsive. Tim released the kiss and began again, and he could feel Terry relax slightly, pressing his lips back against Tim's. Tim placed a hand on one of Terry's knees, moving the boy's legs apart so he could stand between them, and lean in closer. Terry's arms stayed on the counter.

Tim's hand shakily moved up Terry's leg, and the young man moaned slightly. The hand now slid to Terry's torso, trying to pull the him closer, when Terry suddenly pulled back and hissed. Tim had accidentally dug his thumb into Terry's stab wound.

"Sorry," Tim said, placing both hands on the sides of Terry's face. "Sorry," he mumbled again as he resumed the kiss. One of Terry's hands jerked up and grabbed Tim by the wrist, and he deepened the kiss.

The two men began to press against one another, their kisses becoming more intense. Tim's hands left Terry's face and slowly started to explore the young man's chest. A sudden buzzing coming from Terry's pocket made them both jump and break the embrace. Terry's face began to turn a deep shade of scarlet as he dug in his pocket for his cell phone.

"Hello?" He stammered. "Oh, uh, hi, Mom. Uh... no, actually, it kinda looks like Mr. Wayne won't need my help tonight. Okay. Okay. Two percent, go it. Uh-huh. Okay. Be there soon." He snapped the phone shut and scooted off the counter, doing his best not to look at Tim.

"Um, I gotta go. I'll send Grayson a text or something." He quickly snatched up his backpack and was out the door before Tim could even get a word out of his mouth.

-

"Hey, isn't that Mr. Drake?" Max said, pointing behind Terry. He'd just started to take a sip of his soda, but the mention of Tim Drake made him choke on the drink. He started coughing, as Max gave him a weird look.

"Feelin' alright there, Ter?" She asked slowly. He waved his hand in the air as he thumped his chest with his other fist, trying to clear his airway.

"Fine," he wheeze. "Fine. What did you say?"

"Over there," she pointed again, and Terry glanced over the back of the booth they were sitting in. "Isn't that Mr. Drake?"

At the other side of the diner sat a somewhat heavy-set man with silver hair and a blonde middle aged woman in purple. Terry hoped beyond hope that his face wasn't going red as he slunk back into his seat, feeling mortified.

"Yeah, maybe," he muttered.

"...Do you wanna go say hi or something?" Max asked, giving him a funny look. He'd definitely gone red.

"Uh, no," he said, sitting up straighter and trying to keep his voice from cracking. "Might be kinda weird, y'know? I only know him 'cause I beat him up while The Joker was using his body, and only talked to him again 'cause of Batman stuff. I don't want to ruin his night out by making him think about his past."

Max raised an eyebrow, and Terry shrugged. She seemed to accept this, and returned to her tablet. "Okay, so, terminal velocity is..."

-

'T. McGinnis' showed up on the caller ID when Tim picked up the phone.

"I GOT IT, HONEY," he shouted into the kitchen. "Hello?" "Okay, we gotta talk about what happened, and I mean, like, actually TALKING."

"What do you m-"

"You know damn slagging well what I mean. The park at Hill and 100th. 20th level. Two hours." The call abruptly ended, and Tim stared at the phone for a few seconds.

"Honey, I need to go to the office to finish some paperwork I forgot about."

It had taken a while to find the exact park Terry had been referring to, and when he eventually arrived, the park was deserted. He slowly started to walk through the park, when a voice cut through the darkness.

"Hey." Tim turned to see Terry leaning against a tree, arms folded over his chest. The young man was scowling.

"...Hi," Tim responded. An awkward silence settled over them.

"You... said you wanted to talk to me?" Tim said slowly.

"Don't play dumb," Terry snapped. "Mr. Drake, you're married. I have a girlfriend. And I'm not gay. What the hell were we DOING? And don't give me that bull about not know why you did it."

Tim sighed. He really didn't have an answer, as much as he wished he did.

"I sorry," he said. "I really don't have an answer for you, except maybe I'm more screwed up then I thought." He chuckled slightly, but stopped when he noticed Terry was still scowling.

"Look, I understand you have issues, and I'm willing you help you through them, but what you're doing? This isn't working through them. This... Christ, I don't even know what this is." Terry said.

"I don't either," Tim said. He suddenly felt very tired, and sat down on the terraced retaining wall for a wilted flower garden. "I just... do you have any idea how difficult it is to get close to anyone when you've been through what I have?"

"Why me, though?" Terry growled. "Why this way?"

"Because you still believe there's something in this god awful town worth saving," Tim nearly shouted. "You said it yourself, you don't just sit on your hands. Everyone else has either given up or never cared in the first place." He tried to continue, but it was near impossible to. He hadn't opened up in so long, this was the most he'd been able to say in years. He placed his head in his hands and waited for the boy to leave him in peace.

However, the boy didn't leave. Instead, Tim was aware of the boy sitting down next to him.

"Okay," Terry said quietly. "Look, I want to help you out, okay? I don't know what you went through, but if I can help you, I will. But... what happened last night, it wasn't right."

"I agree," Tim said. "I don't really know what came over me, and I'm sorry for scaring you in any way, if I did. I just... don't really know how to deal with people anymore."

"It won't happen again," Tim said, and was about to get up when he noticed Terry looking at him.

"What?" Tim asked.

Terry was giving him a strange look, and leaning towards him. Tim began to repeat his question, when the boy grabbed him by the arm and kissed him. Tim was surprised, but he didn't resist. The boy was hesitant, but slowly pulled Tim closer. Terry's mouth opened slightly, and Tim took his lead. Tim grabbed Terry by the back of his head, entwining his fingers in his hair.

Terry broke the kiss, pushing Tim away slightly and hanging his head.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. Just... just checking something."

He sat back, staring into space, fists clenched on his knees for a moment. He slowly stood up, and said, "We really do need to figure this out. At least... figure out where we're trying to go with this." When Tim didn't say anything, Terry shook his head and left the park.


	3. Chapter 3

"You give me the word and we'll throw that little punk in the holding tank for 24 hours," Barbara's voice said as soon as Tim was handed the phone.   
  
"Hello Barbara," he said confusedly. "What's this about putting a kid in jail?"   
  
"24 hours," she repeated. "We don't need a warrant or a reason. We can call it questioning. Bruce won't be able to do anything about it, not when I can make the DA sleep on the couch for a month."  
  
"Still not sure what you're talking about, Babs," Tim said.   
  
There was a pause over the line, then a long sigh. "I'm not entirely serious," she said, sounding suddenly exhausted. "I'm just worried about you. You don't have to get involved in this Jokerz thing. The McGinnis kid can be a selfish little bastard, he never thinks about how his actions affect others." Tim ran a hand through his hair. No, Terry wasn't the selfish one. He was.  
  
"I appreciate the gesture, Barbara," Tim said. "Really. But if there's something going on with the Joker, I'd rather know. I NEED to know that I'm not being used anymore."   
  
"You can know without getting involved, Tim."   
  
"No, I can't. Not if I want to be able to sleep at night. Besides, I think you have McGinnis figured wrong. He's a good kid. Kind of an idiot, but then again, you were the only one of us that wasn't, so who am I to judge."  
  
Barbara made a sound somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. "I was still stupid enough to put on the cape and tights," she said. There was something in Barbara's voice that made Tim's heart break. She had come out of the bat life the best - went to a good college, married a good man, finally weeded out all of the corruption from the Gotham PD. But he could hear it in her voice, that she still woke up in the night hearing laughter, that she felt responsible for what happened to him.  
  
"Look, Barbara, I need to go. I'll be fine with all this. Like I said, I need to be involved. If anything I need to make sure the kid knows what he's up against. Thanks for looking out for me, though."   
  
"Alright, Tim," Barbara said, though her tone made it clear it wasn't alright. "Just... be safe." There was a click, and the line went dead. Tim returned to the kitchen to hang the phone up on the charger.  
  
Stephanie was in the kitchen, sitting at the table and working on a spreadsheet on her laptop. "What did Barbara want to talk about?" She asked as Tim set the phone into its cradle on the wall.   
  
"Just... checking in on me."   
  
"Really. Because I distinctly heard you say the word 'Joker', and you were out with Dick for an entire night." Her typing got angrier as she spoke.  
  
Tim felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He slowly walked over to Stephanie, draping his arms around her shoulders, burying his face in her pale hair. "I didn't want you to worry," he said quietly.   
  
"Well," she snapped, not leaning back into his embrace, "lying to me doesn't really make me less worried. Kind of has the opposite effect."   
  
"I know," he whispered, squeezing her. "I know. I'm sorry."  
  
"I just," she slammed the top of her computer closed. "I just thought that that was the end of it. That kid got him out of your head for good. We can rest easy now. We don't have to keep getting wrapped up in the Batman bullshit anymore." She leaned back against him, more defeated than relaxed.   
  
"Steph," he murmured, nuzzling her shoulder. "You don't understand what it's like. I'm so afraid he's not gone... keeping an eye on this stuff is the only way I can rest easy."  
  
She gently touched his arm, but he didn't feel any closer to her. He knew she cared, knew she loved him. But she could never understand what he'd gone through. Very few people could.   
  
"Please tell me you're at least keeping a distance," she asked. "That you're not actually getting physically involved."   
  
"It's only some hacking," he said. "I promise. I'm not going to see any action, just give Dick and the kid a hand."  
  
"Okay," she said, but, like Barbara, he could tell it wasn't okay. "This new kid, do you trust him? Is he keeping you safe?"   
  
Tim's chest suddenly felt tight. He glanced at his hand, at his wedding ring. Yes, he trusted the kid. He trusted the kid more than he had most anyone in a long time. But he couldn't figure out if he trusted Terry for the right reasons... if there even was a rational reason. "Yes. I trust him. With my life."  
  
Tim woke up in a cold sweat. He threw off the sheets and sat up, his hands shaking. Next to him, Steph shifted and groaned at the sudden cold.   
  
"Tim?" She muttered, only partially awake. "S'everything okay?"   
  
"Yeah," he said, voice shaky, "yeah. Go back to sleep."   
  
"Nightmares again?" She sounded much more awake now, and was beginning to sit up. Tim understood why she would be so concerned, but he felt like he needed space to breath. To him, dreams were like drowning.  
  
"It's okay," he repeated, leaning over and kissing her on the forehead. "It wasn't that bad. I just... need some air." He slid off the mattress and began to head to the closet to dig out a pair of shoes.   
  
"Tim, please," she said, "come back to bed."   
  
"I promise I won't wander too far, I've got my phone," he said without listening to her, shoving his feet into a pair of boots and wrapping a jacket around himself. He knew she was dialing the therapist by the time he was out the door.  
  
Tim didn't really know where he was going when he left the house, only that the air was cold and calming, and though the city had gotten a lot more claustrophobic over the past two decades, it was still less suffocating then the condo. The noise of traffic and the giant TVs mounted on buildings helped drown out the noise in his head. Besides, he'd slipped his phone in the pocket of his jacket, it had the standard GPS apps.  
  
He'd been walking for a few minutes, in the general direction of the shopping complex a level down from the condo, when an explosion crashed through the rest of the street noise. What few people were out on the streets suddenly stopped, and the traffic on the raised freeway that cut through the skyscrapers began to rubberneck. Everyone looked to the sky, at an office building not far from where Tim was standing. The hundredth floor was on fire, a row of windows suddenly gone.  
  
Two dark figures appeared in the smoke, and seemed to be grappling. They neared the edge of the missing floor, and one pushed the other. The figure started to fall, and a kite-like apparatus unfolded from its back. Tim stopped breathing as he saw the figure smash into a streetlight, the metal arm of the light snapping off like a twig. The figure continued to fall, wrapped up in steel and broken wires. It fell, and it fell hard. Without thinking, Tim bolted across the stopped traffic.  
  
His lungs were on fire as he raced down the levels, eyes glued on the spot where the figure had disappeared into darkness. He went down, down, down - over a dozen levels - before he spotted a broken red wing, caught on the side of a force-field fence. A few more levels, and he saw the broken streetlight on the ground. The level was deserted, emergency crews too occupied with the burning building above to see the boy laying on the ground in a broken pile.  
  
"BATMAN!" Tim shouted, running to kneel next to the boy. He couldn't tell if the kid was breathing. The suit was torn, exposing circuitry underneath the exolayer. Sparks jittered along the spot where the wing had broken off of the back. Tim laid a hand on Terry's shoulder and carefully turned him over. He reached for the seam where the cowl attached to the suit, in order to find the boy's pulse. Terry's hand suddenly shot out and latched onto Tim's wrist, twisting it with the intent to break it.  
  
"It's me," Tim hissed against the sudden pain in his wrist. "Te- Batman. It's me."   
  
Terry groaned, words difficult with the air forced out of his lungs by the crash. "Mr. Drake...?" He managed to get out.   
  
"Yes, it's me," Tim said again. "It's Tim." The hand fell away from his wrist.   
  
"Batman, I know talking's gotta be hard right now, but I need you to tell me if anything's broken."   
  
Terry moaned as he carefully tried to move all his limbs. "No," Terry said slowly. "Nothing's... broke. Can't... breathe."   
  
Tim nodded, saying, "I think your armor protected you, and the wings slowed your fall a bi--"   
  
Terry suddenly interrupted him. "Old man says... lungs not collapsed." Tim was confused for a moment, but remembered that Bruce was probably speaking to Terry through their comm line, and had some sort of system set up to monitor vital signs.   
  
"Okay," he said, "you probably just got the wind knocked out of you."  
  
Tim let Terry regain his breath, and carefully helped the boy sit up. The batsuit seemed intact, no lacerations had made it down to Terry's skin. He'd be black and blue for a month, but nothing permanent.   
  
"I'm taking you home," Tim said. "You hear that, old man? Kid's going to be fine, but he needs rest."   
  
"He says okay," Terry relayed after a brief moment of silence that was just long enough for Tim to know Bruce had had more to say. "But I need to go somewhere else."  
  
"You're in no condition to go back out there," Tim said sternly. Terry's face was completely covered by his cowl, but Tim could feel the strength of the scowl he was being given, even without seeing the face.   
  
"I'm not as stupid as you guys all think I am. If my mom catches me sneaking into the house dressed up like a bat, I'm gonna catch hell. I keep a stash of clothes hidden in the school.  
  
"And," he continued, "much as I hate to say it, I... need a ride."   
  
"Don't you have a jet?"   
  
"See this?" Terry held up one arm. The exterior of the suit was completely stripped off, showing the inner workings underneath. "Can't pilot with the suit this bad."  
  
"Well," Tim said, "hate to disappoint you, but I was on foot tonight." For the first time that night, Terry seemed to notice how odd it was that Tim had found him. He gave Tim a critical look.   
  
"Yeah, what ARE you doing out on the streets in your pajamas at 2 am? Does your wife know where you are?" The second question was more of an accusation.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Tim countered.   
  
"You know pretty slagging well what that's supposed to mean," Terry shot back, his eyes narrowing.  
  
Tim scowled. "Yes, she knows where I am. I couldn't sleep, I needed some air."   
  
"And finding me after I got tossed out of a building...?"   
  
"Just coincidence, really." Tim was desperate to change the subject, and suddenly asked, "Is Bruce still watching over your cowl's comm link?"   
  
Terry's eyes narrowed even more. "No. I turned it off because it was too full of static. Why?"   
  
"Because he wouldn't like what I'm about to suggest."  
  
Before Terry could even begin to give him a weird look, Tim continued. "Your jet, it's got to have some sort of remote control access."   
  
"Yeah," Terry said with hesitation, understanding what Tim was getting at. "But it can only go from the cave to my current location. It doesn't have a real autopilot."   
  
"You won't need one. Just call it to our location and I'll take care of the rest." Terry was clearly not enthusiastic about the idea, but hit a button on his belt anyways.  
  
Within a few minutes, the jet was hovering over them. Terry touched the button on his belt again, and it gently settled down next to them. Without a word, Tim stood up and walked over to it, sliding open the cockpit and dropping himself into the jet. The system was pretty advanced for being twenty years old, but he was an engineer. He began tinkering, and after a few minutes, climbed back out of the jet, waving his phone at Terry. "And now we have a real remote," he said triumphantly.  
  
Terry scowled. "Great," he said. "Fantastic. Give it to me, and go home." He reached out his hand to take the phone.   
  
"No," Tim replied casually. "Dick said you nearly crashed the jet that night you were attacked in the warehouse. I'll pilot it, just to the school. You can get changed and I'll get a cab."   
  
Terry ground his teeth, but inwardly, he was agreeing. He wasn't in any condition to fly. "Fine." He said. "But you're not keeping that program on your phone."   
  
"Deal."  
  
"So why the school?" Tim asked as they flew over the city, carefully using his phone to program an air-traffic route into the jet. "You could get caught there, too."   
  
"Nah," Terry shrugged, unable to really do anything but talk, what with his suit damaged. "Security really isn't tight there, and there aren't any security cameras along this one route between the roof and the gym. Found that out when I used to cut class for non-Batman reasons. 'Sides, all they'd suspect me of is vandalism."  
  
"And why would they do that?" Tim asked.   
  
"Probably 'cause I was a vandal," Terry said. "Hey, at least people usually just think that, and don't assume I'm a crazy clown trying to ruin their life." He coughed, and the cough sounded a lot like the name 'Max'. Tim decided not to pursue the topic, as the boy's tone was somewhat hostile. Instead he was silent as he maneuvered the jet onto the roof of the school.  
  
Terry climbed out of the jet and started for the rooftop access door, Tim following right behind.   
  
"Y'know," Terry said, typing in a code on the door's security panel that he obviously had memorized a long time ago, "I'm fine from here. You can go home now."   
  
"Until you're actually home and not in danger of passing out while in the costume for someone to find you, I'm not leaving." Tim stated. "Speaking from experience, you should have someone to watch your back."  
  
Terry didn't say anything as they made their way down into the locker rooms. He found his locker and opened it, pulling out a change of clothes. Tim turned away, leaning against a row of lockers, to give the kid some privacy. Something compelled him to glance over his shoulder, though, and he was more than a little shocked at what he saw.   
  
Terry was turned away from him, shirtless, and Tim could see just how bad the bruising from the fall was. The young man's entire back and arms were already turning a dark shade of purple, on top of various lacerations in the process of healing.   
  
"Good God," Tim murmured.   
  
Terry, suddenly aware of Tim looking at him, quickly pulled on his shirt and gruffly muttered, "I'm fine."  
  
"Jesus Christ," Tim whispered, walking over to Terry and grabbing one of his arms. There was a deep cut along the arm, scabbed over and beginning to show signs of scarring. "How the hell do you think this is fine? No one should choose to live like this."   
  
Terry jerked his hand out of Tim's grasp. "Yeah, well, I did. So save your lecture."  
  
"I'm sorry," Tim said, "I just-"   
  
"You just don't want me to end up like you, I get it. Whatever. Like I said, I can take care of myself."   
  
"Terry," Tim grabbed him by the shoulder, turning the boy to face him. "There's a reason I don't want you to end up like me. I care about what happens to you. I don't want to see you get hurt the way my entire family has."   
  
"You don't need to c-" Terry began, but fell silent as he saw the look on Tim's face.  
  
There was a lot of guilt to that expression, but Terry could see it was more than that. Tim wasn't just feeling guilty about seeing another person running around as Batman and getting hurt. He truly did care about the man under the cowl, about Terry. Terry nearly stopped breathing, frozen as Tim's hand moved to the back of his neck. He didn't resist - he even stepped forward, meeting Tim halfway.  
  
Tim's mouth covered Terry's, pulling the boy close and locking him in a tight embrace. If dreams were drowning, Terry was a life preserver. Once again, Terry was hesitant, not sure what to do with his hands. Slowly, shakily, they reached up and touched Tim's face, then ran through his hair. A million thoughts were buzzing through Terry's head, questioning what the fuck he was doing, but they all came back to the same answer: Tim did care, if in a destructive kind of way.  
  
Their breathing started to get heavy. Tim was content to just hold Terry, but it had been decades since he'd been a teenager himself. He wasn't sure if the young man needed this connection the same way he did, but whatever it was Terry wanted, he seemed to crave more than just holding on. Tim was pushed back against the row of lockers, one of the boy's hands grabbing the front of his shirt, the other pinning him to a locker.  
  
Terry's mouth opened, and he bit Tim's lower lip hard. Tim opened his own mouth, and the boy's tongue darted inside it. Tim took hold of Terry by the waist and pulled him in closer, smelling the blood and sweat and smoke on the boy. He briefly wondered who it was that Terry had been fighting, how he had gotten thrown off a building, when Terry's legs leaned against his own and his mind went blank.  
  
Tim's hands scrambled about, pulling up the hem of Terry's shirt and taking hold of his hips. His thumbs caressed the soft line between hips and groin, and Terry moaned. His hands began to work their way under the young man's jeans when Terry suddenly pulled away. There was a wild, somewhat scared look in his eyes.   
  
"Shit," Terry muttered. "Shit, shit, shit."   
  
"I'm sorry, I-"   
  
"SHUT UP," Terry shouted.  
  
"Just... just shut up," Terry's voice fell. "Just... listen to me for a second. You're MARRIED, and I ha-"   
  
"No, you listen for a minute you stupid little brat," Tim snapped. "Do you know what all happened to me when I was a kid? Of course you don't, I never told anyone all of it. I can't even remember how long the torture lasted. It never ended. I couldn't keep track of time. You have any idea what the does to a person?"   
  
"Mr. Drake, I-"  
  
Tim shoved the boy away. "You have any idea how hard it is to feel human after going through all that? How long it took me to think of Bruce as my father, instead of The Joker? Most days I can't even feel anything other than anxiety that the torture never really ended, that I'm just living in my head to save myself." He stalked up to Terry, shoving the boy into the opposite row of lockers. "But you, you little bastard. You piss me off."  
  
Tim could see the muscle's in Terry's neck starting to tense up. At any second now the kid was going to throw a punch. His face may not have shown how freaked out he was, but his body language did. Tim sighed and stepped back.   
  
"Yeah, you piss me off," he murmured, as Terry stayed frozen where he was. "And that's... it's a bit of a breakthrough for me. You piss me off, and that gives me a lot of hope."  
  
"Man," Terry said darkly. "You need help. Seriously."   
  
"Right now, this helps."   
  
"How? I keep asking and you don't give me any answers. What do you want from me?"   
  
"I want..." Tim ran a hand over the back of his neck. He hadn't really figured out what he wanted. He knew what it was, but didn't have the skill to put it into words. "I want to feel needed." Terry was quiet, chewing on the inside of his cheek.  
  
Without a word, Terry pushed off of the lockers and grabbed Tim by a shoulder, forcing him to sit on one of the benches set an intervals between lockers. Tim wasn't sure what was going on in the boy's head, and felt selfish for it. He was so focused on what he needed, he hadn't asked what Terry needed. He kept wondering this when Terry straddled his lap and kissed him. The kiss was hard and angry, but it felt right somehow.  
  
Tim wrapped his arms around the boy's back, sliding his hands up under his shirt. This time, the boy reciprocated, running his hands down Tim's chest. Terry's breathing grew heavy, and it was all Tim could focus on. Tim couldn't figure out when it happened, but Terry's shirt came off, his chest sweating and pressing against Tim. Terry's hands stopped moving across Tim, instead holding the sides of Tim's face. He gave Tim a long, deep kiss, slowly pulling away.  
  
"Not... now," Terry whispered, pressing his forehead against Tim's. "Not here. Go home, Mr. Drake. Your wife's probably worried."   
  
He stood up, looking at Tim. He looked hurt and overwhelmed, but also like he was doing everything in his power to stop himself.   
  
"I'll... call you. Or something." He collected his shirt and bag, and once again Tim was left alone, though this time not as disappointed.  
  
When Tim arrived home, Steph was curled up on the couch, the living room floor lamp on. She opened her eyes as soon as he walked into the room.   
  
"Where were you?" She asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.   
  
"Just going for a walk," he said, sitting down next to her. "I'm sorry for worrying you like that."   
  
"I called Dr. Moris," she said, lifting up her head to place it on his lap. She reached up and grabbed his hand. "She'd like to make a meeting with you as soon as possible."  
  
"I'll give her a call in the morning," Tim promised, stroking Steph's hair. "I really am sorry about worrying you like that. I just had to get out of here for a while. I felt like the walls were caving in on me." She was silent, but he could tell tears were starting to fill her eyes. He took hold of her and moved her onto her back, leaning down and kissing her.  
  
It was different from when he kissed Terry. When he kissed Steph, he could tell he was loved, that she was doing everything she could to keep him safe and sane. He needed that feeling. But he could never giver her the same sort of feeling, not with his head such a twisted mess inside. But the kid... the kid kissed him like he needed it. He needed Tim, even if it wasn't in the way Tim wanted to be needed.  
  
"Come on," Tim said softly, helping Stephanie sit up. "Let's go back to bed." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned against him, clutching him tight.   
  
"Sorry for worrying you," he said one more time, shoving any thoughts of Terry out of his head. The kid probably wouldn't speak to him again, he figured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that the current Batman Beyond comics have no confirmed Tim Drake's wife to be Stephanie Brown. However, the very brief glimpse of Mrs. Drake in Return of the Joker lead to the fan theory that she is Stephanie, so I chose to roll with it for this fic.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days went by, and Tim heard nothing from Terry. He wasn't surprised. He was able to sleep a bit easier, though he didn't let himself linger on the reason why. Dick had called him once, to let him know they hadn't found anymore leads and that he should just not worry about what they found in the warehouse. As if Tim possibly could. But he did his best to concentrate on his work, and try to ignore his problems, like he had for so many years already.  
  
It was easy enough to do, until his office phone rang one afternoon while he was working on a report. He lifted up the receiver and a voice started speaking before he could greet them. Terry's voice.   
  
"Gotham Arms hotel, room 2569" Terry said curtly. His voice sounded hoarse. "I need to talk to you. I'll be here for another half hour, if you're not here by then, I'm gone."   
  
The line went dead before Tim count say anything, and he stared at his phone in confusion and disbelief.  
  
Tim debated whether or not to go, or how to even explain why he was leaving work. He still had a few hours before he could leave. He drummed his fingers on his desk for a few minutes, staring at the phone. His brain seemed to switch to autopilot. He fired off an email to his supervisor, lying about feeling fluish and promising to get the report to him the next day, and took off. One part of his brain screamed that this was wrong, the rest that it was right.  
  
He made it to the room Terry had specified in twenty five minutes. He knocked on the door, and was met by silence. He was about to leave when the door opened a crack and caught on the chain lock. He saw a sliver of Terry's face look out, narrow his eyes, then close the door and unlock the chain, opening it again. Terry was shirtless, holding a towel to his nose.   
  
"In," Terry commanded gruffly, slamming and locking the door as soon as Tim was in the room.  
  
"You... said you needed to talk to me?" Tim asked.   
  
"Yeah," Terry said, distracted by looking at the towel he'd been holding to his nose. It was caked with blood. "How long do you think a nose can bleed without needing to get medical - oh. It stopped."   
  
Tim blinked. "I'm pretty sure you could have asked Bruce that," he said.   
  
Terry ignored him as he walked into the room's bathroom and washed the blood off his face.  
  
"You want to tell me what happened?" Tim shouted over the sound of running water.   
  
"I got punched in the face," Terry said as he shut off the faucet. "Comes with the job."   
  
"And why did you call me?" Terry ignored him again, walking back into the main room and nodding towards the bed.   
  
"Sit," he commanded. Tim raised an eyebrow, but did so anyways. Terry stood in front of him, slouching slightly, head tilted to the side, examining Tim.  
  
"You know, you keep asking me to give you answers, but you're being a bit of a hypocrite now," Tim said, but Terry suddenly leaned over and put a finger to Tim's lips.   
  
Without a word, the teen gruffly grabbed him by the hair and locked lips with Tim. He pulled Tim's head back, forcing him to lay down on the bed, crawling on top of him. This was wrong, Tim thought. This wasn't what he'd expected. He pushed Terry's head away from him, knitting his eyebrows as he looked at the boy.  
  
"What the hell," Tim asked, more confused than angry. "What are you doing?"   
  
Terry stared down at him, his eyes strangely blank. "You said this is what helped you. Fine. If this is what helps, fine."   
  
He leaned back down and nipped Tim's neck. Tim suddenly sat up, shoving Terry away again.   
  
"Terry," he said, holding the boy at arm's length. "This isn't right."   
  
"And you making out with me in a high school locker room somehow IS?"  
  
"No, it wasn't," Tim admitted. "But this... this feels worse. Do you actually want to do this?"   
  
Terry sat back on Tim's knees, dejected. "I dunno," he sighed. "I want to help you. I really do. I just... don't know what the hell you want."   
  
Tim stroked Terry's cheek, looking into the boy's eyes. They were so light blue, like looking into ice. And too serious for someone who was only 17. "I want this, or... something like this. But only if you want it, too."  
  
Terry watched Tim for a while, whatever he was searching for on his face, Tim didn't know.   
  
"Yeah," Terry said quietly after some thought. "I want this."   
  
He leaned forward, less forceful this time, and kissed Tim. He still felt tense, somewhat angry. Maybe that was just his default state, Tim decided. It had been so long since he'd been a teenager, been with a teenager. Maybe that's how young people just were.  
  
Terry bit Tim's lower lip, then his mouth started to wander, moving down Tim's neck. Tim sat still, and Terry noticed. He glanced up at the older man's face, and between kissing and gently biting the nape of his neck, said, "Are you gonna shove me again, or what?"   
  
"Terry," Tim said slowly, enough to make Terry stop. "What are you doing?"   
  
Terry groaned, leaning his forehead against Tim's shoulder. "You said you want to be needed," he said. "Let me need you."  
  
"Because you actually need me, or you feel sorry for me?" Tim said, but his breath caught in his throat as Terry breathed into his ear.   
  
"Both," Terry whispered. He slipped a hand down to rest on the side of Tim's torso, gently pushing him down on the bed again.   
  
"I feel sorry for you," he continued, lifting Tim's shirt up. His hands were calloused and rough against Tim's chest. "But right now... I need this. You."  
  
Terry lifted Tim's shirt over his head, leaning down and licking one of Tim's collarbones. Tim gasped, sitting halfway up and grabbing the boy's head, lifting it up and kissing Terry. Terry's kiss was startled at first, but quickly gave way to a certain tenderness, full of yearning. Tim still doubted the boy's motivation, but the kiss was starting to convince him otherwise. He wrapped his arms around Terry's waist and pulled him close, so close Terry could feel Tim's heart pounding in his chest.  
  
Tim broke off the kiss, his mouth trailing a line down Terry's chest. He stopped right at Terry's hips, at that point between the groin and hips that had made Terry moan the other night. His lips hovered over the spot, then kissed it, and Terry fell forward slightly, leaning over Tim. Tim glanced up - the boy's cheeks were red, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy. Tim caressed Terry's hips, and the boy made a choked sound.  
  
Tim’s hands groped around, shaking, catching on the hem of Terry’s jeans. He blindly felt around until he managed to find the button and fly, pulled them open with a swift motion. Terry's hands suddenly grabbed Tim's wrists, pulling them away and pinning them on the bed. He repositioned himself, kissing Tim sloppily, his mouth exploring every inch of Tim's throat and chin. He wedged a knee between Tim's legs, and Tim groaned.  
  
Terry made a noise that wasn't quite a pant, and Tim opened his eyes to see the boy smirking.   
  
"Uh," he said, laughing between gasps for air, "I think I said a while back I'm not gay. I uh, I kinda don't know what I'm doing."   
  
"That's okay," Tim said, "that makes two of us."   
  
Terry's smirk broke into a full smile and he laughed. Tim couldn't help but join in - it was pretty funny.   
  
"Please tell me the education system got over the whole abstinence thing," Tim said.  
  
"Huh?" Terry asked, giving Tim a funny look. Then his eyes went wide and his ears turned red.   
  
"Oh! Ooooh. Yeah, no, I... just a sec..." he sat up and leaned over the side of the bed, pulling up a backpack and fishing around in it. "Yeah, no, I always... Dana would kill me if..." He stopped talking and his face fell at the mention of Dana.   
  
Tim rubbed one hand along Terry's back with one hand, slipped a condom out of his hand with the other. "I understand," was all he said.  
  
Terry glanced at Tim, the guilt and shame clear on his face. "I'm crazy about her, you know," Terry said quietly. "I can see myself having a future with her, if we ever stop fighting."   
  
"I know," Tim said, sitting up and leaning against Terry. "I love Stephanie. What we're doing doesn't change that."   
  
Terry frowned. "This is so frickin' confusing," he muttered.   
  
"I know," Tim repeated, running his fingers through Terry's hair until the boy looked at him again.  
  
Tim pulled Terry towards him, gently kissing him, caught at an angle with Terry's shoulder against his chest. No, he didn't really have any idea what he was doing. But right now, he didn't care. His heart was trying to beat out of his ribcage, but not out of fear. He slid a hand down Terry's chest, carefully slipping down the front of Terry's jeans. Terry inhaled sharply, but this time he didn't pull away.  
  
Tim moved Terry's boxers out of the way, pulling the boy's cock free. Terry grabbed the back of Tim's neck, forcing his tongue into his mouth and moaning. Tim's thumb ran across the head, then slowly down the length of the shaft. Terry pulled him closer, breathing heavily, his other hand shakily moving down Tim's stomach and fumbling with his fly. Tim's heart skipped a beat, but he focused on Terry, instead of himself. As Terry had said... he needed Tim right now.  
  
"Fuck," Terry muttered, and Tim could feel the smirk against his mouth without having to see it. "What the hell are these pants made out of, titanium?"   
  
"Don't worry about it," Tim replied, his hand starting to move up and down.   
  
Terry's lip finally broke away from his own, the boy unable to breathe without panting. Tim slowly guided the boy down to the bed, one arm wedged beneath him, the other continuing to focus on stroking him.  
  
Tim slowly moved back, tracing the young man's muscular chest down to his hips. Whatever part of his brain was still capable of thinking in full sentences reminded him of Terry's reaction twice before, and he licked his groin, tongue slowly moving up towards his abdomen. Terry cried out, a short outburst that suddenly cut off. His back arched underneath Tim, and his hands scrambling to claw at Tim's shoulders.  
  
Tim wormed his arm out from underneath the boy's back, awkwardly moving Terry's pants down, then grasping his thigh and moving up towards his buttocks. The pace at which he was stroking Terry's cock quickened, his mouth suckling the flesh just above Terry's groin. Terry's hands suddenly grasped him, one digging into his shoulder, the other tangled in Tim's hair. They froze, clawing at him, his whole body rigid.  
  
Tim's head moved up, tongue exploring Terry's abs and then pectorals. One hand clenched Terry's buttocks, the other his penis, and the young man's breath caught in his throat as he released. His body relaxed, his breathing starting again. Tim let go of his penis, hands resting on Terry's hips, once more pressing that soft bit of flesh. Suddenly Terry punched him in the arm, hard.   
  
"Dreg," Terry gasped, laughing.  
  
"Kids these days," Tim said, trying to catch his own breath as he propped himself up on his elbows to look at Terry's face. "Is 'dreg' good or bad?"   
  
Terry bolted up with more stamina than Tim would have thought he'd have after getting off. He grabbed Tim in a headlock, wrapping himself around him. He must have taken some sort of wrestling training, Tim thought.   
  
"It means," Terry said with a mean smirk, "that you're an asshole."  
  
"You're the one who invited me here," Tim said, trying to remember how to get out of a wrestling hold and failing. It had been years since he'd had to know something like that.   
  
"Yeah, well," Terry ruffled Tim's hair in an almost-noogie. "I play fair at least."   
  
"I seem to remember that you actually fight pretty dirty," Tim shot back. Terry let out a barking laugh and pushed Tim's head down into the mattress, letting go of him and bounding off the bed.  
  
Tim lay there, watching as the boy pulled his pants back up. Terry had so much energy, and Tim didn't understand it. He felt exhausted, but in a good way. Like he'd gotten something out of his system. But Terry had seemed tired when Tim had arrived, and now looked like he'd gotten an adrenaline shot. Terry flopped back down on the edge of the bed, propping himself on his elbows. He'd been smiling, but the smile fell a bit.  
  
"This can't go on forever," he said quietly.   
  
"I know," Tim groaned, turning over onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "I don't intend for it to go on forever. Just right now... I need this. Just until I can start feeling like a person again."   
  
Terry gripped Tim's bicep, more like a close friend than a lover. "Okay," he said.   
  
Tim was sure Terry would ask how long that would take, but he didn't. Instead, he rolled over, leaning over Tim.  
  
"Sorry if I freaked you out when you showed up," Terry said casually, but his eyes were serious again. "I think... I needed this, too."   
  
He leaned down, as if to kiss Tim, but stopped. Tim knew why, too. He wasn't exactly smiling.   
  
"What happened to you before I showed up?" He asked. "What made you call me?"   
  
Terry frowned. "Just Batman stuff. I got punched in the face. I dunno why I called you. It just seemed like the right thing to do."  
  
Tim frowned, but before he could say anything, Terry swiftly kissed him, one hand pressing against his chest. Tim had been right - the boy didn't fight fair. He knew just what to do to derail Tim's thoughts. Terry held the kiss, then followed it by a few shorter ones, then sat up and got off the bed. He checked the watch on his wrist.   
  
"Slag it," he said. "No time to make it back to class before school's out. Uh, sorry if I made you skip outta work."  
  
"It's fine," Tim stood up and grabbed Terry by the waist, pushing him back to the wall and sticking his tongue in his mouth. Terry moaned slightly, then lightly punched Tim in the arm.   
  
"Knock it off," he said, "you skipped out on work, but if I skip out on my job, Mr. Wayne'll freak."   
  
Tim sighed, and nodded. The boy always seemed to be trying to run away. He let him go, and collected his shirt from the bed. This time, Tim was the one to leave first, feeling slightly frustrated.  
  
As Tim was making his way out of the hotel, his cellphone buzzed in his pocket. He retrieved it, and saw Dick's name on the caller ID. He flipped the phone open and said hello. "Tim," Dick spoke quietly, but with intensity. "Wherever you are right now, I want you to go home." "Excuse me?" Tim asked, feeling angry. Terry had been avoiding a subject, and now Dick was giving orders. Something had happened that they didn't want him to know about.  
  
"Tim, please, just do what I-" "Not unless you tell me what the fuck is going on," Tim spat, tired of once again being treated like a child. Dick was silent for a while, and Tim almost thought he'd hung up, when he started speaking again. "Batman and I tracked the movements of that gang. They cleared out of the warehouse, so we took another look at it. There was a lab, and... a message. A recording. It was addressed to the kid's real name."  
  
Tim's heart nearly stopped. "And... what was on the recording?" He asked slowly. "A threat by some little punk dressed up like a clown. A threat against the kid... and against you. And... and an ambush." Tim swallowed, his entire body feeling numb. He wanted to go back up to the room and punch the kid in the face for not saying anything about this, but he could understand why the boy wouldn't want to talk about it.  
  
Questions started swimming in his head. Questions about Terry's motivation - he was beginning to tell himself that the boy had invited him to the hotel not because he really did need anything, but because he felt so much pity for Tim that he wanted to give Tim a moment of happiness before telling him about this message. Tim's hand tightened around his cellphone, and he felt like throwing it to the ground, to break something. But he resisted.  
  
"Tim," Dick said, "I want you to go home. I got the kid to lay low for a while, but his family's going to start worrying. I'll be keeping an eye on him until we figure out what our next move is."   
  
"Fine," Tim snapped.   
  
Dick paused, hearing the anger in Tim's voice, then said, "Okay. Stay safe."   
  
Tim slammed the phone shut, shoving it back into his pocket. He continued out of the hotel, onto the streets, that feeling of drowning coming back.


	5. Chapter 5

"Mr. Drake?" A voice behind Tim asked. He glanced over his shoulder to see a young African American woman with shockingly pink hair looking at him thoughtfully.   
  
"I'm sorry, can I help you?" He asked, not sure how she knew him, and wanting to get back to ordering his coffee.   
  
"You're Tim Drake, right?" She said with a smile, sticking out one hand. "Max. Max Gibson. Terry's friend."  
  
"Ah," Tim nodded, not entirely enthused at the mention of Terry. "Yes, you're the one who helps him out." He turned back to give the barista his order, but the young woman kept talking.   
  
"Yeah, well, if it weren't for me, he'd probably be dead in a ditch somewhere. Actually, I wanted to talk to about that. I did some digging on you, I hear you used to be a bit of a whiz when it came to computers back in the day. I was wondering if I could get some advice."  
  
The girl was talking a mile a minute, and Tim just didn't really care. He snatched his coffee out of the barista's hand as soon as it was finished, earning him a dirty look. He headed for a seat by the window, hoping to shake the girl, but she grabbed her own drink and was soon following him.   
  
"What was it like hacking back in the day, anyways? Easier or harder than it is now?"  
  
"Look, kid," Tim said, sitting down and hoping she'd get the hint, "that was another life entirely for me. I'm not involved anymore, working with Terry now is just a favor for my brother."   
  
She pouted, and sat down on a chair across from him. Obviously he wasn't going to shake her so easily.   
  
"Sor-ry," she said, crossing her legs and staring out the window. "You at least mind if I keep you company? I'm waiting for some friends and I'm bored."  
  
Tim grunted non-noncommittally. They sat for a while, both just staring out the window, when Max started talking again.   
  
"I'm kinda glad I ran into you, Mr. Drake," she said. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something. Did Terry or Mr. Grayson talk to you the other day?"   
  
Tim sputtered and coughed into his coffee, and she gave him a funny look. He cleared his windpipe, then said, "Dick called me, why?"  
  
She shook her head a little, clearly choosing to ignore his reaction. "What about Ter? Did he talk to you?"   
  
Tim felt his pulse raise a little, wondering what exactly she was getting at. A feeling of guilt washed over him. "No," he replied. "Why?"   
  
She was quiet, running her finger over the lip over her cup as she thought.  
  
"Look," she said slowly, "I get the point of keeping secrets, especially when it's something as important as the one's Terry's got, but... I don't believe in keeping important things from people that might get affected by it, y'know? I keep telling Ter he needs to let Dana in on this thing, she's his girlfriend, it'd make his life a LOT easier..."   
  
"Is there a point to this, Ms. Gibson?"   
  
She looked down at her lap and chewed her lip.  
  
"I watch the feed from Terry's cams," she said, quiet enough not to be heard by the rest of the cafe, but not quite as obvious as a whisper. "Mr. Wayne doesn't like it, but Ter likes having someone to talk to. So I see what goes on, if I'm awake and helping him out. I was watching the other night, when they checked the warehouse again. So I saw the message the Jokerz left."   
  
Tim raised an eyebrow, and she took it as a signal to continue.  
  
"I think you need to know what it said," she reached into her bag and pulled out a small disc, carefully setting it on the table in front of her. "I know Terry and Mr. Grayson just want to protect you, but... I dunno, I think you're safer knowing what's coming."   
  
Tim slid the disc across the table and picked it up.   
  
"Thank you," he said, and he meant it. He didn't know Max, but he appreciated her treating him like an adult, when Terry and Dick wouldn't.  
  
"No prob'," she said with a shrug. "Jokerz went after me once - I mean, nothing as bad as what happened to you - and I'd like a warning if someone found out it was gonna happen again. Oop, they're here, gotta jet."   
  
She stood up, looking out the window and waving. Tim looked out and saw a group of teenagers heading towards the cafe. He could pick out Terry, walking with his arm around an Asian girl of his own age.  
  
Tim watched as Terry suddenly buried his face in the girl's shoulder, and she pushed him away with a smile, only for him to pounce on her again, kissing her deeply. The rest of the group stopped and made faces, the particular mix of awkwardness and mirth that teenagers made when their dating friends got affectionate. Tim felt a sinking feeling in his chest, overcome with guilt as he watched the happy teenagers. That was what Terry needed - youth, happiness, not Tim.  
  
Max rolled her eyes and waved again, this time catching the attention of her friends. Terry looked up, smiling, but his face fell when he spotted Tim. He narrowed his eyes, then someone said something to draw his attention away and his smile came back.   
  
"Take care, Mr. Drake," Max said over her shoulder as she headed for the door. Tim nodded numbly continuing to watch Terry as the group of teenagers headed down the street.  
  
When the group disappeared from sight, Tim sighed and stood up, aware he was still holding the disc Max had given him. He frowned, and slipped it into a pocket of his jacket. He had to get back home quickly, before Stephanie, if he wanted to watch it without making her worry.  
  
"Is this thing on?" A lanky teenager in clown white said, tapping the camera. The camera shook up and down, like a nod.   
  
"Excellent."   
  
The teenager stood back, revealing a warehouse done up like a circus ring. A lion splicer prowled behind the teenager, a girl dressed up like a garish doll snapping a whip at him. A crowd of young people, dressed as various types of clowns, sat on shelving units and dusty machines behind her.  
  
The first teen pulled a beat up, red-sequined top hat from behind his back and set it on his head. Someone tossed him a megaphone.   
  
"GOOOOD MORNING GOTHAM!" He said with a flourish. "WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS, BOYS AND GIRLS. WE HOPE YOU LEAVE WITH A... SMILE ON YOUR FACE."   
  
The teens in the crowd cheered, and the splicer roared, lunging at the young man in the top hat. The teen egged him on, then struck his face. Sparks erupted from his hand and he laughed, waving a killer joy buzzer at the camera.  
  
"Now, before we get started, I'd like to have some volunteers from the audience!" The crowd waved their hands in the air, cheering.   
  
"Now now, I don't want just anyone! Let's see, it should be someone special, someone we've always wanted to play with... like Batman!"   
  
The crowd booed.   
  
"Yessss, Batman! Or should I say..." the teen jumped towards the camera, sticking his face into it. "Terry McGinnis, Hill High junior and ex con?"  
  
The young man had to shout to be heard over the jeers. "I don't know if you remember me, Ter-bear, but I remember you. I remember your little friend Big Time, too. You know how much of a living hell him and his little gang made life for me?"   
  
The teen stepped back again, clearing his throat. "But enough about me. We still need a second volunteer! Now, this one needs to be really special. Because this volunteer once almost followed through with what we're about to do. Drum roll, please!"  
  
There was pandemonium as the crowd stamped on the ground or hit machines, and the camera went shaky as whoever was holding it joined in. It steadied out as the ringleader lifted the megaphone back to his mouth and shouted, "Folks, let's give it up for the one, the only, the murderer, the Robin, MISTER. TIMOTHY. DRAAAAAAKE!"   
  
The crowd went wild, and the ringleader started trying to get them to calm down, eventually shouting into the megaphone for them to shut up.  
  
"THANK YOU," the teen shouted when the crowd hushed. "Now, I'm sure you're all asking, what do we need these volunteers for? Easy. We want Batman so we can kill 'im."   
  
The crowd hooted its approval.   
  
"And we want Drake because, well..." He skipped back to a curtain hanging over a large cylindrical shape, and pulled it off. It revealed a tube, not unlike the kind used for cryogenics. In it floated a pale figure.  
  
The figure had a shaved head, and a breathing apparatus covered his nose and mouth, but it was undeniably the Joker. The ringleader leaned against the tube, smiling and showing his teeth. They were filed into points, making him look like a shark.   
  
"Boys and girls, we've got a special bash planned for Gotham. We're bringing back this city's true leader and hero. All we need is a little help from our good buddy Timmy."  
  
The ringleader skipped back to the camera, getting it in his face again. "So, Batman, Batsy-boy, Ter-bear, feel free to come looking for us again. We'd be so happy to play with you. The big guy's looking forward to it, too. And Timmy-boo? We couldn't do this without you, baby."   
  
He lifted the megaphone back up to his mouth, and cackled, then put on his best Wicked Witch impression and shrieked, "NOW FLY, MY PRETTIES! FLY, FLY!"  
  
The screen flickered with a red smiley face and the word 'SMILE', then went black. Tim slumped back in his chair, shaking. Beads of sweat had collected on his forehead, but he felt chilled to the very core. The cut in the video must have been the signal for the ambush, the one that made Dick practically force Terry into hiding. And Terry to call Tim. Tim thought these things, but every thought was quickly swallowed up by pure fear.  
  
His heart started to race, and he felt a pressure on his chest. He groped for the phone on the desk, trying to remember which number on the speed-dial Dr. Moris was under. His hands shook too hard to pick up the phone. He didn't hear the apartment door open, but he did hear Stephanie announce that she was home. She popped her head into the office and her eyes went wide. She dropped her keys and rushed to Tim's side.  
  
"Tim?" She asked, and continued asking, but he couldn't respond. He felt consciousness slipping from him. He awoke in intervals, but only enough to catch glimpses of his surroundings. The ambulance, the hospital and a battery of tests, and eventually back in his own bed. That was when he properly awoke, or at least surfaced from his haze. Dr. Moris, a sharp-dressed, professional woman in her 40s, was standing at the foot of the bed and talking to Stephanie.  
  
"And you're sure you don't know what triggered the episode?" Dr. Moris was asking.   
  
"I... have my suspicions. He's... he's been getting involved in the Batman business again."   
  
The psychiatrist sighed. She was about to say something again when Tim spoke up.   
  
"It wasn't that," he groaned. The two women jumped slightly at his voice. "I was on the internet, just following links. Wound up on some music video that used clowns. It... got to me worse than I thought it would."  
  
Dr. Moris scowled. She knew he'd been able to look at clowns with only minor episodes for a few years now. But she seemed to accept it, and nodded.   
  
"Alright," she said. "You folks might want to look into stronger internet filters. And Mr. Drake, I'd like to make an appointment with you ASAP to adjust your medication."   
  
"Thank you, Dr. Moris," he said, "sorry for scaring you."   
  
Moris sniffed, taking Stephanie out of the room to speak to her.  
  
When the doctor left, Stephanie returned to sit on the edge of the bed and stroke Tim's forehead.   
  
"A video made it this bad?" She asked.   
  
"I should have been more careful," Tim murmured. He reached up and took her by the shoulders, pulling her down to lay next to him. "I'm sorry for the scare."   
  
Stephanie curled up against him, fighting back both anger and tears. "The video had to do with Batman, didn't it?"  
  
Tim swallowed. He couldn't keep lying to her, not after all they'd been through together. "Yes," he admitted. Her shoulders started to shake.   
  
"Tim, please. Please don't get involved. Don't put yourself through this." He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.   
  
"I can't sit on my hands, Stephanie. I have to see this through. I won't be at peace until Batman's dealt with this."   
  
"At least tell me what's going on."  
  
"It's just... just stupid kids trying to live like... him." He'd never be able to understand it. The obsession these young people had with such a monster.   
  
"You can't stop them from dressing up and being stupid," Steph murmured.   
  
"I know," he said. "But they're putting a lot of people in danger and we need to make sure that doesn't happen."   
  
"Tim?"   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"Please, don't be a hero. Do what you need to do, but... don't try to be a hero."  
  
The two fell asleep holding each other, but Tim couldn't sleep long. He was still feeling the effects of watching the video, struggling to breathe and heart pounding. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Stephanie, and walked to the kitchen phone. He scrolled through recent caller ID until he found Terry's name, and selected the return call option. The phone rang multiple times before Terry answered, mumbling and clearly half asleep.  
  
"'Lo...?"   
  
"Terry, this is Tim." There was a shuffling noise.   
  
"Mr. Drake, it's like, 4 in the morning."   
  
"I saw the recording, Terry. Of the... circus." Terry's voice sounded far away, as if he'd put the phone down for a second. Still, Tim could hear him swearing. Eventually he moved the phone back to his head.   
  
"How did you get the recording?" He demanded.   
  
"It doesn't matter how," Tim hissed. "You should have told me what was going on."  
  
"Mr. Drake, I did it t-"   
  
"To protect me?" Tim snarled, trying to keep his voice down so he wouldn't wake Stephanie up. "Because not telling me that I'm in danger is really helpful."   
  
"Yes, to protect you," Terry shot back. "Believe it or not, even though it's screwed up, I DO kind of care about you. I didn't want you to have to see that and go through whatever happened to you all over again in your head."  
  
Terry inhaled, then slowly exhaled. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said. "I really didn't want you to find out about it like that. But I also wanted to get some more information before saying anything. For all we know, this is one hell of a bluff."   
  
"It's not a bluff," Tim said. "Trust me, I can... I can feel it. It's not a bluff."   
  
"Okay," Terry said. "I believe you. But please, trust me. I saved you before, I'm not going to let anything happen to you again."  
  
Tim had to stop and think. Did he really trust the boy's judgement? He certainly wanted to. He'd felt so hopeful being around Terry before, but that was before the boy had tried to hide the recording from him.   
  
"Can I meet you somewhere?" Tim asked. "I want to trust you, Terry, but right now, we need to get some things cleared up."   
  
"Okay," Terry said, "I have some tests today, but after school, we can meet up."  
  
"Alright," Tim agreed, then paused. They'd need a location. "Do you think you can make it to that same hotel as a few days ago?"  
  
He wasn't making any plans to do anything with Terry, the location just popped into his head as something convenient, private, that they both knew. Terry seemed to be thinking it over.   
  
"Okay. I'll be there around like 4."   
  
"Okay," Tim said, and hung up the phone.


	6. Chapter 6

Tim had been pacing when he heard a knocked on the door to the hotel room. He steadied himself against the dresser, taking a deep breath. The worst of the episode had passed, and Steph had decided he was in stable enough condition to go to work, but he still felt shaky. It wasn't as bad as when he'd first started going through the rehabilitation process, but it was still one of the worst triggers he'd experienced in the past few months.  
  
There was another knock on the door. A voice quietly asked, "Mr. Drake?"   
  
Tim took a deep breath and leaned one arm against the wall as he went to the door. He opened it and ushered Terry inside.   
  
"I didn't know if you meant the exact same place, since the room mighta been rented out, guess you got lu-" Terry stopped speaking when he saw how Tim was slumped against the wall for support, his face ashen.  
  
"Whoooa," Terry said, quickly walking to the older man and offering him support.   
  
Without a word, Terry helped him sit down on the bed, and grabbed one of the complimentary cups sitting on the dresser, filling it with water from the bathroom sink. He thrust the cup into Tim's hand and didn't say anything until Tim had drank. Terry crouched on the floor in front of Tim, looking up at him with concern all over his face.  
  
"You okay?" Terry asked. It was obvious Tim wasn't, but Tim understood how hard it could be to outright ask anything.   
  
"Trauma flashback," Tim said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. "Worst is past, but they tend to linger."   
  
Terry scowled. "This is why I didn't want you to watch that recording," he said, cutting right to the chase. "Hell, I wasn't messed up by the Joker and I felt creeped out by that video."  
  
"And your reaction was to invite me here?" Tim asked. "You have a funny way of dealing with trauma."   
  
Terry's brow creased. "Hey," he said, "you were the one who said he wanted to be needed."   
  
"I also remember telling both you and Dick not to handle me with kid gloves," Tim spat. "Guess I'm just too fragile."   
  
"Says the guy who just admitted to having a trauma flashback." Tim's eyes narrowed.   
  
"You have no idea what it is like," he said. "I don't know why I thought you could help."  
  
"Fine," Terry said, his face getting that blank look again, like he was so fed up with the world that he couldn't even be helped to express an emotion. "If you want me to go, I'll go." He stood up and made for the door.   
  
"Terry," Tim said as the boy's hand touched the door handle, "wait. I'm sorry. I actually do want to speak with you." Terry turned, leaning against the door and crossing his arms.   
  
"Okay. Talk."  
  
Tim was silent for a few moments, putting his thoughts together. Terry glanced at his watch, and Tim was compelled to finally speak. He hadn't truly opened up in such a long time, it was a difficult process.   
  
"Why did you invite me here the other day?" He asked. Terry stared at his feet, taking as long to answer the question as Tim had to ask it.   
  
"Partly 'cause I felt guilty about those clowns figuring out who you were. I should've been able to protect your identity, my identity, better."  
  
"And what was the other part?" Tim asked. Terry looked up, straight into his eyes.   
  
"The other part was... I actually did feel like I had to see you. Not like I had to, y'know, BE with you. Not necessarily. More like I felt that if anyone knew how freaked out I felt watching that recording and getting jumped, it'd be you. I guess I... just wasn't sure how to say that, so I kinda panicked and did what I thought you'd want."  
  
An awkward silence settled over the room. It was clear to Tim that Terry was just as bad as opening up, though not for the same reasons.   
  
"And what..." Tim said haltingly, "what do you want?"   
  
Terry came over to sit on the edge of the bed next to Tim, resting his elbows on his knees and threading his fingers around the back of his neck.   
  
"I don't know," he said. "I mean, what happened the other day, it's not like I didn't like it. I just don't know if it's right to let that happen again."  
  
Tim stared into space for a while. "If you don't want it to happen again, it won't," he said.   
  
"I didn't say that," Terry stated quickly. "I just... I dunno, I have this way of screwing up things 'cause I didn't think them through. We need like... boundaries, or something. So that if someone gets hurt, it's not as bad as it could've been." Terry didn't need to state it outright for Tim to understand that he was talking about their respective partners.  
  
Tim had to agree. As much as he wanted to be with Terry, he didn't want to ruin his marriage - or ruin a young man's relationship. "Okay," he said. "We can work out boundaries."   
  
"Alright," Terry replied. "First off, I think we need to figure out what we're even trying to do. I mean, I get the sex part but... is this gonna be a regular thing, or what?"   
  
"No," Tim said. "I... you're right, it would be wrong if we did this regularly."  
  
"Okay," Terry said, frowning a little. "Then... why would we even keep doing this?"   
  
"Because..." Tim thought out loud, "because we both need to, I suppose. We both need this kind of connection. From someone who understands this kind of life a bit better than the rest of the world."   
  
Terry made a 'hmm' sound, and stared at the ground a bit.   
  
"So I guess..." he started, "I guess it's like... a last resort. Something to do if there's nothing else that can fix what's happening in our heads."  
  
"That's one way of putting it," Tim said with a nod.   
  
"Okay, so, only do this if we're at the end of our line, and we both know it's not gonna last," Terry suggested.   
  
Tim nodded absently. He didn't particularly want to have to think this out, but the boy was right. They had to, if they didn't want anyone to get hurt.   
  
"Okay," Terry said again, more to himself than to Tim. He sounded a little nervous, like he was talking himself into agreeing to this.  
  
"You don't have to do this if you don't want to, Terry," Tim reminded him. He watched the boy closely as he chewed his lower lip. He desperately wanted to know what the young man was thinking.   
  
"I... actually do want to do this," Terry said. There was guilt in his voice. "I just... the last time I did what I wanted without thinking about it, I screwed it up. Bad." The tone in his voice made it clear he was talking about a girl.   
  
"Then we won't screw it up," Tim said, clasping Terry's shoulder.  
  
"I don't know if that's possible," Terry said, "but... we can try." Terry looked up into Tim's face. The boy's expression was hard to read - a mix of guilt and shame and something that looked like longing. Tim hesitated, then slipped his arm around the boy's shoulders.   
  
"Are you okay?" Terry asked again.   
  
"I'll manage," Tim replied, noticing that the boy was even more tense than usual. "What about you?"  
  
Terry's face twitched slightly.   
  
"I don't know who that guy on the recording was," he said, sounding reluctant to talk about the subject. "But he knew my name, and... he knew how my dad died. Like, he didn't say anything on the recording, but the whole warehouse was covered with the same graffiti as my dad's house. I know it wasn't Jokerz that killed him, but The Joker did the same thing when he attacked Mr. Wayne."   
  
Tim gave the boy's shoulders a small squeeze. He understood the feeling.  
  
Tim leaned over and laid his face in the boy's dark hair. He was a bit surprised to find that 'teenaged boy' was a smell unto its own - bodyspray and sweat and hormones. Tim had probably smelled like that, his friends smelled like that, but he'd never paid attention to it when he was young. It was almost comforting.   
  
"It's okay," he said quietly. "You can talk to me. I've been through it all, I know what it's like."  
  
Terry snorted slightly. "Yeah, I can't even imagine," he murmured. Tim was happy to just sit there like that, to let the boy just talk, to give him the comfort he needed. But again, Terry seemed to need more than just comfort. Tim felt a hand move up his back, taking hold of his shoulder. Terry's head moved, his face coming up to look at Tim's. Whatever had cause Terry to hesitate before, it didn't affect him as much now.  
  
Terry kissed him, much more gently than before. The tension had left his shoulders. Tim thought he felt something - as if he sensed that Terry was just trying to forget what he'd seen - though he may have been projecting. Terry began to slip, falling onto his side on the bed, and he dragged Tim down with him. The boy's hands started to wander, less frantic this time, more curious than anything. They found purchase on Tim's belt.  
  
Tim didn't move as Terry's mouth suddenly left his, and the boy's head suddenly moved down. He was nearly in a state of shock as the young man undid his pants. He almost didn't register it as Terry rolled a condom onto him, at least not until the young man pressed his lips against his groin. Tim gasped slightly, and heard the boy chuckle. Slowly, awkwardly, fingers wrapped around his cock. Another hand started moving up his shirt, and it felt ticklish.  
  
The hand left his penis, and Tim was about to apologize, to tell Terry that it was alright if he didn't want to do anything. He was about to, when suddenly his penis was enveloped in warmth. Tim released a long, low moan, and looked down. Terry lay next to him, his head it Tim's crotch. One hand was still wedged under Tim's shirt, but had stopped moving. The other took hold of Tim's hips, nails digging into his skin.  
  
Tim cried out as he felt Terry's tongue through the condom. He reached out and wound his fingers through Terry's hair, and pressed the boy's head closer. With a jerk, Terry pulled back, sputtering and coughing.   
  
"Sorry," Tim said quickly, starting to sit up.   
  
"Huh," Terry muttered. "That... kinda hurt."   
  
"I'm sorry," Tim repeated, "if you want to stop..."   
  
"No," Terry replied. "No." He pressed Tim back down, but sat up himself, repositioning himself, spooning Tim.  
  
Tim was about to ask what Terry was doing, when the young man murmured in his ear.   
  
"No," he said again, "I don't wanna stop. Just... trying something else."   
  
He ran a hand up the back of Tim's head, then breathed on his neck. He reached around Tim's form, taking hold of his penis and beginning to stroke it. Tim moaned, reaching back and trying to find Terry's fly. Terry knew what he was doing, and guided Tim's hand, undoing his pants for him.  
  
Tim grasped Terry's penis and began to pull on it. Terry returned the gesture, though his movements were awkward, somewhat mechanical. Likely trying to figure out how to do to someone else what he did to his own body in private. Tim came first, the young man's jerky movements leaving him feeling strained. Terry seemed almost disappointed, but as Tim finished him off, he suddenly bit down on Tim's shoulder, hissing.  
  
They laid together for some time, neither saying a word. Tim wanted to know what was going on in Terry's head, wondering if the somewhat hollow embrace Terry was giving him meant something. Terry leaned up and kissed the spot behind Tim's ear, slowly untangling himself. Terry sat up, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He probably thought Tim couldn't see his hands as he slipped his cellphone out of his pocket and checked a text.   
  
But Tim could see, enough to make out the name "Dana" on the screen. He pretended not to, quickly looking away as Terry shut the phone and returned to his side. The young man breathed into his ear, leaving a trail of kisses down Tim's back, hands slowly moving Tim's shirt up. Tim moaned, and tried to forget about the phone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I'm back! Two years without an update, bet you all thought I forgot about this. Well, I didn't! I just had to take a very, very long break from fandom due to all kinds of drama. But I'm feeling comfortable enough to at least try to finish up my fanfics! I don't know how frequently I'll update, but I am at least back.

Tim watched the young man as he slept, the side of his face pressed against Terry's warm chest. Terry looked so peaceful at rest. The lines on his face from the near perpetual scowl he wore smoothed over, and he looked more like the teenager he was. His chest rose and fell gently as he breathed, and his heart beat steadily in Tim's ear. Tim admitted that the boy was handsome while awake - but asleep, he took on a soft vulnerability, and became beautiful.

That wasn't why Tim had become so enamored with the boy, though. Yes, Terry was physically attractive, but Tim's appreciation for it wasn't particularly romantic. There was something else. The boy's righteous anger, his stubbornness, his dedication to saving people. It struck Tim that he was attracted to Terry because the boy was a hero. Tim had long ago grown jaded about heroes, but he had to admit that Terry made a good one. A hero Gotham could be proud of.

Tim's fingers slowly wandered across Terry's chest, lightly tracing the outline of a scar. The boy didn't react. He'd had plenty of energy earlier, but he'd used that energy up quickly, and then crashed. That tiny part of Tim that still thought about the old days, that little voice that still called himself Robin, noted that Terry lacked self-discipline. He'd noticed the same thing when Terry had fought The Joker - the boy fought so hard, harder than needed, and it left him weak to attack.

At that thought, Tim shut his eyes, pressing his face harder against the boy's chest. He didn't need to be thinking like that. That such a thought could enter his head scared him. He didn't need to be thinking like a Robin, and he most certainly didn't need to be thinking like The Joker. His hand left Terry's chest and cradled his own head. His body began to unintentionally curl up. He'd fallen asleep like that for much of his life. If he curled up small enough, The Joker couldn't do much.

His knees dug into Terry's side, enough to wake the young man up. He wearily blinked and moved his head from side to side, trying to find the source of whatever was digging into him. Tim wasn't aware that Terry was conscious until he felt hands on his wrists. He glanced up, meeting Terry's gaze. The boy was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. Carefully, with a firm but gentle grip, Terry pulled Tim's arms away from his chest, unfolding the older man from his fetal position.

Tim didn't object, though his body resisted somewhat. The young man pulled him up, practically draping him across himself. He set Tim's arms next to his shoulders and let go of his wrists. He wrapped his arms around Tim, his head just under Tim's chin. Tim was tense for a moment, but Terry tightened his grip, and Tim felt himself relaxing. The boy held onto him so tightly, as if he was afraid Tim would vanish if he eased up his grip in the slightest.

Tim tried to speak, but the young man hushed him. Tim was grateful for the silence, in a way. For years, all he'd ever done was talk. Talk to Bruce. Talk to Barbara. Talk to Stephanie. Talk to the shrinks. The talking had helped to piece back together his shattered mind, but sometimes, he just wanted to not have to talk. He wanted someone to hold him without asking if he'd had a nightmare again. That's exactly what Terry was doing, though for what reason, Tim wasn't sure.

Still, the silence was welcomed. Tim returned Terry's embrace, holding back just as tightly. He was sure that if he let Terry go, the boy would disappear. He was a young man, with his life ahead of him. He had no reason to hang around with a broken old man. But he did anyways, and Tim was grateful. He wanted to show that gratitude, to make it clear how much it meant to him that Terry needed him - or at least, put on a good act for needing him. But words failed him.

He buried his face in the boy's dark hair, as always just wanting to be held. Yet his couldn't help but remember how Terry never seemed to be content with that. For now he was, maybe, but... Tim didn't want to loose him. He didn't want the young man to drift away, and how else could he hold on to him?

Tim kissed the top of Terry's head, gently, more like a parent than a lover. Was he even Terry's lover? He wasn't sure. He had the feeling he was being selfish, using the boy for his own purposes without thinking about what Terry wanted. Couldn't he be allowed a bit of selfishness, though, if it made him happy? He kissed Terry's head again, more deeply, and felt the young man tense up slightly beneath him. He stroked Terry's cheek, willing the boy for once not to be afraid of him.

He kissed Terry's head one more time, then leaned down, pressing his lips to Terry's collarbone. He was afraid to kiss Terry's face, to look into his eyes and see only confusion. His hand moved from Terry's cheek to brush down along the boy's arm. Terry still held on to him, but his arms were tense, the affectionate gesture turned into an uncertain one. Tim worked his way out of that vice-like grip, slowly moving down Terry's body. Terry's abdomen moved as he inhaled, as if about to speak.

He didn't, though. He remained silent as Tim moved down, his body remained rigid. The only change Tim noticed was that the boy's breathing got faster when he felt Tim's breath against his groin. Terry wasn't hard, and he shuddered when Tim stroked his length with the tip of a finger. It didn't take much to arouse the boy, Tim was discovering - but he was just a teenager, after all. Tim could remember with some embarrassment his own teenage years, and how everything made him think of sex then.

Wordlessly, without warning, Tim took the half-erect shaft into his mouth. Terry inhaled sharply, the air escaping his lungs in a low moan as he hardened. Now that he was here, of course, Tim wasn't sure what to do. He understood Terry's apprehension earlier - he'd never made love to a man before. Neither of them knew what they were doing, and yet they were putting forth their best effort anyways. Tim questioned if this was even right, if he was just confusing affection for lust.

That line of thinking ended abruptly when he felt Terry's hand hesitantly run through his hair. No, of course it wasn't right. But why did something have to be right for him to enjoy it? He wrapped his tongue around Terry's penis, trying to remember what exactly his partners had done to him when they gave him oral sex. The moans coming from Terry seemed to imply that he was doing something right, at the very least.

Tim stopped thinking. A challenge for him, but he was able to manage it. He simply let his mouth and tongue move on their own, exploring Terry's erection in minute detail. The boy's moans turning into a half whimper as his body relaxed. Tim moved forward, swallowing Terry into the back of his throat, fighting his gag reflex. Terry's body suddenly grew tense again, and he cried out softly. Tim didn't like when the boy wouldn't relax, but this was a different kind of tension. One he did like.

He released Terry from his mouth and leaned over the boy, wanting to see his face. Terry's eyes were closed, his lips parted but his teeth clenched. Tim kissed him, those teeth scraping against his lips. He reached down and touched the sensitive little area he'd found on Terry's groan, and the boy gasped, suddenly biting down on Tim's lower lip as he came. His breathing remained ragged, his chest heaving. He was shivering slightly, grasping at Tim's shoulders once more.

They drifted in and out of sleep, bodies intertwined with one another, quiet, contemplative. Tim murmured something without thinking about how muscular Terry was, the first time he’d spoken about the young man’s body without drawing attention to his scars. 

“I work out,” Terry mumbled from his half-sleep, then grinned. Tim couldn’t help but snort. The boy really did have a sense of humor. When it showed, it made it so hard for Tim to reconcile the fact that the boy was also Batman. Batman wasn’t supposed to laugh, wasn’t supposed to be fun and make people feel happy. Safe, maybe. But this was just a boy, a child. He didn’t need to carry that dark weight that Bruce did. He would’ve been better as a Titan, as a Robi--

Tim forced himself to stop thinking like that. Still, Terry felt so alive and emotive and human. It was so hard to hate him the way he had hated Bruce. 

A buzzing noise came from the nightstand. Tim almost asked Terry not to answer it, but he knew that would be selfish of him. The boy slipped out of his arms and picked up the phone. Once again, there was that endless pit of guilt in Tim’s stomach as he knew he was probably keeping the boy from his girlfriend, from the person who he should have been with. The mattress shifted as Terry got out of the bed. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, searching for his clothing. “Gotta go to work. The boring, drive-Bruce-to-the-doctor’s kind, not the… other kind.”

The fun kind. That’s what he had meant. And he’d caught himself from saying it for Tim. 

“That’s fine. We’ve probably been here too long, anyways.”

Terry nodded and yawned, pulling on his shoes. He made for the door, grabbing his pack as he did, but as he opened the door, he paused. Tim could see his shoulders suddenly tense up. The young man stooped, then straightened himself back up. He stood very still, hand clutching the door handle until his knuckles turned white. 

“What is it?” Tim asked. 

“...We’ve got mail.”

“What?”

Terry turned around, holding a small cardboard parcel. He carried it over to the bed and carefully set it down. His eyes were narrowed and icy, and there was a look of fury on his face that Tim had not yet seen before. Tim looked down at the parcel. There was a label on it: “T. McGinnis, Gotham Arms Hotel.”

Tim immediately felt a tremor moving through his hand. Terry, though, was remarkably steady as he ripped the tape off of the box. 

“Careful,” Tim murmured. “Might be trapped.”

Terry nodded, but the words didn’t seem to really penetrate. He pulled the flaps open, both of them bracing for the possibility it might be a bomb. 

It wasn’t. The box was half-filled with tissue paper, and sitting on top of the paper was a black arm band, the kind worn to funerals. 

“A funeral band? Is it a threa--” Tim wasn’t able to finish his question before Terry let out a horrifying yell, something full of rage and frustration. It wasn’t quite human. Terry picked up the box and hurled it against the wall, still holding out the yell, before his knees buckled and he fell forward, pounding his fists onto the bed. The yell slowly faded.

“What?” Tim asked, reaching out to touch the boy’s shoulders but hesitating. “What is it?”

Terry looked up, his ice blue eyes full of hatred. “My old gang.”


	8. Chapter 8

“So why a funeral band?” Dick asked, staring at the box sitting on his kitchen island. 

“That was my gang’s symbol,” Terry said, though it came out as more of a growl. He wasn’t growling at Dick, of course, but rather at the whole situation. “Jokerz have their costumes, Ts have the facepaint, we had black bands. The night Big Time and I got collared was the night I was supposed to be earning my band.”

“...Big Time…?” Tim asked. 

“Big Time Bigelow. An old… someone I used to roll with.”

“Seems like they waited a long time to send a blood-in blood-out threat,” Dick commented. 

“I don’t think it was them. That’s why I brought this to you. That freak on the recording, he talked about Big Time. Made it sound like me and Big Time had done something to him. This Jokerz stuff, it’s not just Jokerz being Jokerz. This is personal. This is someone out to get me.”

“So why didn’t you take this to Bruce?” Dick tapped the box. 

“Because he’d pull me off the case, like he always does, because he thinks taking away the weapons and the suit and the computers will somehow protect me.” There was bitterness in the boy’s voice. The two former Robins exchanged a look. This, at least, was a feeling they could understand… and which was aimed somewhat at them. How many times had either of them lectured the kid about quitting the job? But he had a point. 

“And what,” Dick asked, and Tim felt his blood run cold, “was Tim doing with you at a hotel?” 

This was it, Tim thought, it was over, whatever he’d had with the boy was over. Dick was catching on, and whoever that boy in clown white on the video was knew that the two of them were together. Had already been targeting both of them. How long had they been followed? 

He opened his mouth to say that he knew he was fucked up and that he had no excuse to have done what he had with the boy, when Terry spoke over him. 

“We were talking. We were seeing if we could bring out the Joker.” The lie came out of him liquid-smooth, polished, the right mix of sincerity and defensiveness. 

“...Please tell me I heard that wrong,” Dick hissed in a low voice. “Please tell me you didn’t just say you’ve been trying to bring back all the shit that happened to my brother.”

“We weren’t trying to trigger his PTSD,” Terry snapped, and Tim was impressed by how well the boy sold it. “But Mr. Drake’s connected to that clown, like it or not, and we had to try. Maybe if there was anything left in his subconscious, he could find out what other backups the Joker left.”

“How dare you, you little--” Dick lashed out, grabbing Terry by the collar of his jacket and yanking him off of his stool. 

“He’s not as fragile as you think he is,” Terry growled, hands curling around Dick’s wrists, ready to twist them until they snapped. 

“Enough,” Tim bellowed, slamming a hand down on the formica countertop. He silently thanked Terry for the act, though wished the boy had come up with something that hadn’t made Dick so angry. Dick let Terry go with a shove, and the young man fell backwards, crashing into his stool. 

“Look, Dick,” Tim said quietly, “I know you’re against this. That’s why we didn’t tell you or Bruce. Or even Dr. Moris. But we’ve been discussing this for a while. He’s right. I hate it, but I’m the only one who can understand the Joker. Besides, this group is coming after both me and Terry. We both need to be prepared.”

Dick was fuming, hunched over the counter, exhaling heavily out of his nose. He believed them, and that was both good and bad. 

“The next time you do this, I’m going to be there.”

“No, you’re not, Dick.”

“Don’t you start that with me, Tim--”

“Dick,” Tim said firmly, staring his older brother down. “Think about this for a second. If we have a break through and I start to get closer to the memories, what would you do?”

“Shut the whole thing down.”

“And that’s the problem,” Terry spoke up, quieter, less confrontational than before. “You’ll stop it before we get any decent information.”

Dick glared at Tim, then at Terry, then back to Tim. “And you trust this little punk to put a stop to it before you have a flashback?”

“Yes,” Tim said. Even if he was lying about the situation, he wasn’t lying about trusting Terry. “We have safeguards, we have boundaries. I know you think the boy’s selfish, but we’re not doing hypnotism or anything like that. Mostly redrawing schematics the Joker was working on that I can still remember from the Kill-Sat.” 

Dick sighed heavily, collapsing into a stool. He knew he wouldn’t be able to talk them out of it. The whole damn family was too stubborn for that. That’s what they got for being raised by Bruce. 

“Fine. Just… use one of the safehouses next time.”

“Safehouses?” Terry asked, glancing at Tim. 

“Protected apartments throughout the city that Bruce set up a long time ago,” Tim answered. “I thought the old man would’ve stopped using them.”

“You know him,” Dick sighed again. “Paranoid old man, always had to be ready for anything. They’re still there. At least the ones he gave to me are. He took a few back. Guess he trusts us even less now that he’s old. I’ll give you the coordinates.” He stood up wearily, his age finally showing. He crossed to the sink and filled a glass of water. 

“Just be careful. Use different houses, take different routes each time, don’t show up or leave together. And seriously, if you feel even close to an episode, I want you to stop the whole thing.”

Tim nodded. “Of course.” 

“...Fine,” Dick muttered, resigned. He looked back at the box. “I’ll do some digging, see if I can find out if anyone knows what those clowns are planning. McGinnis, I need you and your tech friend to do some digging, too. You need to find out who this kid is and why they have it out for you.

“Now both of you, get out of here before I change my mind and call your doctor,” he glared at Tim, “and your boss,” he glared at Terry. 

Terry didn’t say anything, just collected the box and tucked it into his backpack. Tim nodded again, glumly. They left the apartment together, walking in silence down the stairs. 

“Thanks,” Tim whispered. 

Terry paused on the stairs, waiting until Tim noticed and stopped as well, a few steps down. “Mr. Drake, I…” he searched for the words, “I know you’re already involved because of the Joker stuff, but this group, they’ve got it out for me personally. I meant what I said back there, about you not being fragile, but I think… I think you should stay away from me.”

Tim sighed, leaning on handrail and looking down the center of the stair well. “When your family and friends were threatened before, did staying away from them really do any good?”

“I… what?”

“You’re young. You’re still new to this. And let me tell you, when someone wants to hurt you, it doesn’t matter how far away you are from the ones you care about, they’ll still use those people to hurt you. The only problem is now, you’ve shot yourself in the foot because it’ll take longer to rescue them.”

The young man was silent. 

“I’m not saying we need to be attached at the hip or anything,” Tim continued, “and I certainly don’t want to make you feel obligated to be around me. That’s… the last thing I want. But I want you to think. Why do you want distance?”

“...I don’t.”

Tim looked up sharply. He’d expected the boy to say that they were through, that their connection had worn out its value, that he was going back to having normal teenage relationships. He wasn’t prepared for the idea that Terry would still want to continue. 

“I don’t want distance,” Terry’s voice was quiet, but his eyes were fierce and determined. “I want you to be safe.”

Tim smiled. Dumb kid, always playing the hero. Why was he so attracted to that? He thought he’d gotten over heroes. 

“You said it yourself, I’m already involved. At least now we know to be more careful. We’ve got the safehouses. We’re getting closer to knowing what’s out there and once we do, we can protect ourselves from it.”

The kid kept standing there, a few steps above, shoulders back and hands in fists. He looked so much like Bruce. It wasn’t just the Joker that had thought of Terry as a Bat-fake. Now Tim felt ashamed of those thoughts. 

Terry stepped down, meeting Tim on eye level. He leaned forward, touching the back of Tim’s neck, drawing the two of them close, bumping their foreheads together. Neither said anything. Tim felt so warm in that embrace, so cared for. It was like electricity running through his body. Not the feeling of being pitied, but the feeling of being wanted. Terry wanted to protect him, wanted to be with him, for whatever reason. Tim still didn’t know the boy’s motives, but this was enough. This electric touch was enough. 

The young man leaned down and let his lips brush against Tim’s, then released him, stepping back. “I do think we should lay low for a while, until we have some more information,” he said.  
Of course. They’d been caught by the Jokerz, and nearly caught by Dick. They were moving too fast. Slowness was key. Tim murmured his agreement, and Terry continued down the stairs, leaving him to catch up. 

-

Barbara Gordon instinctively looked up at the door whenever the motion sensor dinged to alert the wait staff that someone was coming in. Cop’s nerves, and it was a cop donut shop. Who knew when someone would try to take out as many off-duty police officers as they could in one go. Most of the time, it was other officers or the random passerby, but it never hurt to be sure. 

She was surprised, then, when who should walk in the door but Tim Drake, carrying a white paper sack in one hand and scanning the shop. She lifted a hand from her booth by the window, and he spotted her, smiling slightly and coming to sit on the seat across from her. 

“Tim,” she said in her normal gruff tone, though she couldn’t quite hide her surprise. “How did you find me?”

“Well,” he said, “first I hacked into the police HR department’s servers to find out when you would be getting off duty, then I researched donut places in the vicinity. Your dad always ate at this one, and your cred receipts show--”

“Cute,” she said, lifting up her mug of coffee. 

“I actually just asked the receptionist when you’d be around and she told me you just got off duty and were probably getting donuts,” he said with a grin. 

“What’s in the bag?”

“More donuts, actually. I was going to bring you some. Seems kind of pointless, now.” He shrugged and set the sack on the table. 

“...Why?”

“What, I can’t just visit an old family member?” 

She narrowed her eyes and looked at him over the tops of her glasses. “You didn’t visit us for years. You have your reasons, good ones, but this is out of the norm.”

Tim’s smile fell and he ran a hand through his grey hair. “I know. Truth is, I had a favor to ask.”

“24 hour lock up, I can do that. Let me just call my boys--”

“No, no, the kid is fine. Mostly fine.”

“...What part about the kid isn’t?”

Tim took a deep breath, steadying himself. Dick had exploded, but that was nothing compared to what Babs would do if he told her how deep he was into this mess. Dick felt guilty for not being around, but Barbara’s guilt ran much, much deeper. She had been there. She had been responsible for Harley Quinn’s death, and on top of that, she’d held Tim as he sobbed, the gun still in his hand, trying so hard to bring him back to reality. She’d cradled his small, broken body all the way to the mental ward. She hadn’t even let Bruce touch him. 

“I’ve… been helping the kid on this recent case.”

“Damn it, Tim!” She snapped, slamming her mug down on the table. Hot coffee splashed onto her hands, but she ignored it. 

“Look,” he said in a hushed tone, reaching out to blot the coffee off of her hands with a napkin, then holding onto them. Her hands were so wrinkled, but still just as strong as the grip that had held him that night. “I tried to stay out of it. And I’m not going out on patrol or anything like that. But Barbara, these people, they’ve got some sort of personal grudge against the boy, and they’re bringing me into it.”

“We can put you in protective custody. I can have units around you at all times.”

He squeezed her hand. “I know. But I’m afraid if you do, they’ll take it as a challenge. Trust me, I’m laying low, Stephanie knows about it, and Dick gave me access to his safehouses.”

She looked up at him with those sharp, brilliant green eyes. Her usual fierce commissioner look melted, and once again she was a worried big sister. “What do you need, Tim?”

“I need access to Terry McGinnis’ record.”

“What!?”

“Like I said, this gang has some sort of grudge against him. I think they’re part of his past. His criminal past. Finding out who they are will make it easier to protect ourselves. That hacker friend of his could easily get the records herself, but I wanted to ask first. To give you a heads up of what the police need to watch out for.”

Barbara was silent for a while, looking down at their clasped hands. Slowly, she looked back up. “Alright. Just this once. But promise me, you won’t do anything more than research.”

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The black arm band thing is purely headcanon. There's references to Terry being in a gang in the Big Time episodes, but I can't really see him as a T and DEFINITELY can't see him as a Joker. I extrapolated from that that he was a part of a small neighborhood gang, not one of the huge organized ones, based on the way Terry described things in canon.


End file.
